


Masks

by kazbrekkcr



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, No one can resist the adorable Spencer Reid, Not even the distant reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-09
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-07-10 01:26:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 25,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15938924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kazbrekkcr/pseuds/kazbrekkcr
Summary: You are the new Communications Liaison for the BAU. You keep your distance, not wanting to get too close, but can you hide from these profilers? Especially the adorable Spencer Reid, who seems determined to get to know the real you?





	1. Introductions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a. use the interactivefics extension on chrome for a better reading experience  
> b. y/l/n = your last name  
> c. i'm only on season 7 so there's no spoilers for after that (and also no characters who show up in later seasons)  
> d. this is my second published fanfiction so i hope i don't disappoint!

Behind every mask there is a face, and behind that a story.  
Marty Rubin

* * *

 "Agent Y/L/N?"

You turn around to face a tall man in a black suit, hair almost the same shade. Smiling, you nod and reach out a hand. He shakes it solidly and gives you a tight-lipped grin. You get the feeling he doesn't smile often.

"I'm Agent Hotchner," he introduces himself. "Welcome to the BAU."

"Thank you," you reply graciously, and leave it at that.

"Let me introduce you to the rest of the team." He turns around to see mostly everyone already behind him, looking at you curiously. You keep a polite smile on your face, despite feeling uneasy with so much attention.

Agent Hotchner continues. "Everyone, this is Agent Y/N Y/L/N. She will be our new Communications Liaison now that JJ is officially a field agent." He points out an attractive woman with long blonde hair. She smiles broadly and reaches out a hand, which you shake.

"Really nice to meet you. I'm excited to see what you do with my old position," she says.

You give a short laugh and reply, "I hope I can live up to expectations."

"I'm sure you will." She winks knowingly and you feel yourself wanting to continue the conversation, so you turn your attention back to Agent Hotchner.

"These are Agents Derek Morgan, Emily Prentiss, David Rossi, and Dr. Spencer Reid." Agent Hotchner points them out one at a time. Agent Morgan is tall and muscular with beautiful dark skin. Agent Prentiss has a prominent nose and nice smile. Agent Rossi seems like he's got age-old wisdom, and his silver hair backs that up. You wish you could fangirl a little, meeting one of your heroes and all, but you keep it reined in.

"Don't feel the need to be so formal. You can call me Rossi, him Morgan, her Emily, her JJ, and him Spencer or Reid," Agent Rossi adds with a half-grin, and the rest of them nod. You don't return the gesture, but shake hands with all of them. All but Dr. Reid.

"I don't shake hands," he says, just looking at yours stretched out in front of you. After another second, you let it fall back to your side and look at him questioningly. He notices and goes on, seeming surprised he's allowed to continue. "Shaking hands is notorious for spreading unknown pathogens. It's actually much safer to kiss."

You crack a smile without thinking. And then the thoughts appear: _Tall, cute, nerdy, with great hair. Not good. Let's stay away from that._ Agent Hotchner seems like the safest option so you look back at him once again, not catching Spencer's small grin at your reaction.

"Not to overwhelm you, but we do have a case. Agent Y/L/N, would you mind presenting? I believe you were briefed before you arrived."

You had indeed been briefed, having been sent the case file last night. You'd actually needed a solid hour to recover from what you read, it was so gruesome. But it was already in your brain and it can't surprise you anymore. No reason to think you'd give anything emotional away now. So you nod and say, "Of course."

The team seems to turn as one and heads towards the stairs, you following. You all eventually land in a conference room at the end of the hall. As soon as you walk in the door, a blur of pink and green grabs your hands tight.

"You must be Agent Y/N." Her voice is high-pitched and bubbly, and all you can do is nod in response. "I'm Penelope Garcia, tech whiz for the BAU, and we are going to be great friends."

As she peers at you through her wide glasses, standing a little too close, you feel panic snake up your spine. _I_ _can't become friends with any of these people._ You can feel your eyes widen but you can't do anything to stop it. Your breathing is catching and you feel hot and--

"All right, baby girl, let's give her some space." Morgan steps in and places his hands on Penelope's shoulders, forcing her to move further from you. Penelope sort of goes willingly, and you breathe into the space she just vacated. Looking at the rest of the room, you catch Spencer looking at you intently and look away just as quickly.

Agent Hotchner motions for you to come to the front, standing in front of a large monitor. He hands you a remote and says, "Whenever you're ready."

You take a breath, trying to make the panic disperse, and press a key on the remote. Photos of three young, attractive women pop up, along with their respective crime scenes.

"Three women were found tortured to death in St. Louis, Missouri these past two weeks. They were all 25 years old. As you can see, none of them are - were - the same race or have the same build, and their lives are - were - pretty different from each other." You catch your verb mix-ups and try to stay calm. "Anna Davis, Victim #1, was found in her apartment, chained to her bed frame and beaten to death. Five days later, Lucy Marvin, Victim #2, was found in her apartment building's basement, tied up and electrocuted to death. And five days after that, which was yesterday, Grace Bowen, Victim #3, was found in her kitchen, chained up and starved to death."

The team doesn't say much when you finish, their faces giving it all away.

"How far are the crime scenes from each other?" JJ asks.

"Roughly six miles."

"And who found the victims?"

You look down at your notes. "Anna Davis was discovered after she didn't show up for class, and Lucy Marvin was found by her roommate, who had been away for the week. Grace Bowen was found when a neighbor heard her daughter crying." Not lifting your head, you close your eyes for a second, trying to get rid of the disturbing picture in your mind.

"So the unsub's signature is torture. Why?" Emily muses aloud.

"And how did the unsub keep the victims quiet?" Rossi tacks on. "Lucy Marvin's basement is isolated, sure, and Grace Bowen clearly had her mouth taped shut. But what about Anna Davis?"

You can answer that one. "The M.E.'s report says that most of the beating was postmortem. It seems like the unsub killed her early on in the fight, keeping the noise down, then just didn't realize she had died earlier than expected."

"Or didn't care," Morgan says, and you suppress a shudder. "And he obviously didn't care if anyone heard him. Plus, they were all found in their own homes, or buildings at least. Our unsub is using convenience for the kills and has no need for dump sites, but must be bringing his own supplies to do the killing."

"There was no sign of forced entry at the scenes," you add.

Spencer finishes your thought: "The victims knew the unsub."

He makes eye contact with you, and you realize too late that you'd been staring and smiling at him as he completed your sentence. Breaking it quickly and looking back down at your notes, you say, "There were also no signs of robbery," just to direct your attention somewhere other than Spencer's adorable face.

"Did they find any kind of sexual assault at the scenes?" Agent Hotchner asks.

Without looking up, you answer, "Yes. All three."

"So, obviously a sexual sadist," Rossi inputs.

"What kind of unsub could this be?" Emily questions, but just goes right on. "Garcia, see if you can find anything in their online presences that points to relationships of some sort. Dating apps, Match.com profiles, conversations with someone they have little to no history with. They could've all met the unsub through that outlet."

"Will do," Penelope answers Emily, already typing. "You know," and her voice is soft, just for you, "I tried doing your job once, but I couldn't handle it. You must be a better woman than me." You grin again without trying, and when you look back at her, she's lit up like a Christmas tree.

You turn your attention away. "Male?" You ask.

"Most likely," and you smile at Spencer's voice. "The bodies don't seem to be handled with any care, and there are no signs of remorse or guilt. The unsub just chained them up, tortured them to death, and then left them there."

Your smile has faded with his words. _These poor girls._

"All found five days apart as well," Agent Hotchner notes.

"Which means," JJ says, "we've got three days to catch this guy."

"Then let's get going," Agent Hotchner sighs. "Wheels up in thirty. Agent Y/L/N, I hope you brought your go bag."

"I'm all set," you reply.

The team slowly leaves the room, some of them congratulating you on the way. You accept them politely but distantly, hoping you come across as courteous yet almost unapproachable. Eventually, it's just you in the room, and you take a minute to look at the photos still on the screen. The crime scenes still hurt to look at, and you wonder why you took this job and whether you'll be able to pull it off.

Downstairs in the bullpen, everyone is moving except Spencer. He stares into the conference room, and watches you stare at the victims.


	2. On the Jet

The meeting of two personalities is like the contact of two chemical substances: if there is any reaction, both are transformed.  
Carl Gustav Jung

* * *

"There's no way that's true!"

Morgan laughs. "I swear to god, my dog could laugh exactly like a person. It's not my fault I can't show you any proof."

"Oh, yeah," Emily rolls her eyes, "it's just convenient said dog is gone so we can't hear it ourselves."

"And you never happened to have a video camera to capture it, despite your dog never leaving the house," Rossi teases him.

"Excuse me! Times were tough. Sorry my family couldn't afford a video camera on the streets of Chicago, Mr. Italian royalty."

Rossi's expression becomes one of indignation. "It wasn't until I started catching famous serial killers and selling millions of books that I was a rich Italian, thank you very much!"

"Specifically," Spencer chimes in, "your books have sold a total of 100,574,328 copies, and one is sold roughly every hour and 24 minutes."

"Thank you, Reid," Rossi says triumphantly while Morgan groans. "Reid, his ego's big enough already. No need to make it bigger!"

"Well, facts don't lie," Spencer replies simply. Emily bursts out laughing. Shaking his head, Morgan moves his attention elsewhere, his eyes landing on you. You're sitting in the back of the jet, alone, with headphones in and engrossed in a book.

"Hey, guys," he interrupts. He motions for them to lean closer, and they do, as subtly as they can. With his voice lowered, Morgan says, "What do you guys think of Y/L/N? She strikes me as kind of distant."

"I noticed that too," Emily replies. "She seems nice enough. Good at her job so far. I don't think she wants to get too close."

"But why? I think we're a great team to get close to."

"Maybe she can't. There are several reasons people can't make friends easily: social phobias, depression, the loss of people close to you, over sensitivity, lack of social skills, or even unrealistic expectations of friendship, ones no one can attain."

"I don't think there's something wrong with her," Rossi says. "She just wants to keep her distance."

"But doesn't that bug you?"

Emily shrugs. "I'm intrigued, sure, but it's her life. She can do what she wants."

"I'd suggest you let it go, Morgan," Rossi says. "Give her some respect." Morgan doesn't reply, still looking over at you. After a minute, he shakes his head and changes the subject.

While Morgan, Emily, and Rossi discuss other things, Spencer's still stuck on you. He doesn't really think there's something wrong with you that prevents you from making friends - you didn't show any of the characteristics - but your behavior also interests him, probably more so than the rest of the team.

He thinks it started with your very first interaction. No one ever lets him talk about why he doesn't shake hands anymore, and when you'd silently encouraged him to continue, he wasn't even sure he still remembered the right words (not literally, but one gets the point). And then you'd actually smiled after he'd explained! Whenever he rambles, the rest of the team just shakes their heads and tunes him out, or stares at him like he's an alien. You are the first person in a long time who's let him babble and didn't hate him for it.

But the rest of your attitude didn't fit with that element. You were polite but cold. You presented the case but held back showing emotion. You joined in the conversation but never pointed out anything personal. You could barely even look at Penelope when she'd accosted you (though he did notice that whatever she'd been saying to you during the discussion had made you smile, whether you'd wanted to or not).

(You have a nice smile, he thinks.)

He'd also caught you smiling at him again, after he'd finished your sentence about the unsub's familiarity with the victims. But you'd looked away just as quickly and refused to make eye contact with him again. You didn't make much eye contact with anyone else really, besides Hotch.

Something in him, the profiler side of him, tells him there's more to you than meets the eye. He feels this unknown urge to figure out who you are, the real you. He almost feels drawn to you, in a way.

(He's not even sure what that means, but it feels right.)

Interrupting his study of you, Hotch calls for everyone's attention. You look up and catch Spencer's eye, and this time, it's him who looks away. Setting down your headphones and book, you leave your seat to find one closer to the rest of the team.

"Okay," Hotch says, "we're expected to land within the hour. Let's go over victimology."

You start off. "All three victims were of different social class, economic class, race, career, you name it. Anna Davis was a graduate student at St. Louis University, studying veterinary science. Lucy Marvin was an associate-level coder at a tech start-up. And Grace Bowen was a stay-at-home mom with a two-year-old daughter. The only overlap local police could find was their age."

"My new bestie is correct." Penelope pops up on the monitor. Spencer watches you closely, seeing how you clench your jaw when Penelope calls you her "bestie". "I am not seeing any overlap between these poor girls other than their age either."

"What about the dating angle?" Emily questions.

"I'm still working on that, _mon amie_ , but tech companies have been surprisingly hard to hack into. I have to do each one individually, and they all have their own security systems, designed by coders who do this for a living. I will get back to you as soon as I possibly can."

"You know, the number 25 has several meanings. Nothing else in the crime scenes seem to point to a religious meaning, but it could be more spiritual. It's easiest to split the main number - 25 - into the separate numbers that make it up - 2 and 5 - and find their respective meanings. Then those are added together to get the third number - 7 - and find its meaning. The overall number should have elements of all three. The number 2 refers to relationships or companionship, while the number 5 connotes adventure. The number 7 stands for introspection. 25 can also mean adventure, specifically in love, as well as the repetition of it in someone's life meaning that big changes are headed their way.

"The fact that these victims were all found five days apart also points to the number 5, giving its meaning even more importance. Maybe the unsub's torture is his version of adventure." Spencer hopes you'll look up and smile at him again, but you don't.

"What about finances?" Hotch asks.

"My liege, they are different there as well. Anna Davis was putting herself through college by working several part-time jobs; Lucy Marvin was financially stable, pretty much middle-class; and Grace Bowen got a huge settlement from her recent divorce, which allowed her to live in that bougie, WASP-y neighborhood."

Morgan stifles a snicker.

"Each victim seems to be of lower risk than the one before," you say quietly, more to yourself than the team. JJ hears you and grabs on to your thought. "Y/L/N's right. Going from broke college student to middle-class techie to rich stay-at-home mom are big steps in his M.O."

When she'd said you were right, Spencer sees you glance up at her in surprise. He can't tell whether it's because JJ complimented you or she'd continued your line of thought.

"Did the local P.D. question Grace Bowen's ex-husband?" Rossi asks. "Maybe he's the connection."

You're caught off-guard, still focused on what JJ had done. You duck your head back down to find the information. "They said..." you trail off, trying to find the right page. "They said they had planned to, but he was so distraught when he picked up his daughter and heard the news that they didn't feel the need to anymore."

Rossi nods to you in thanks, but you don't seem to see him. Spencer watches your eyes glaze over for a second, and he swears he sees them start to glisten. Then he blinks and it's over, your face buried in your tablet again.

"Assignments," Hotch says. "Y/L/N and Prentiss go to the first crime scene, Reid and Morgan to the second, and JJ and Dave to the third. I'll go ahead to the station and meet with the local detectives. We'll all meet there afterwards."

Everyone nods and starts to prepare for landing. You stay where you are for a second, staring off into space. Spencer's about to leave his seat and come talk to you - about what, he has no idea - but then you snap out of it, standing and moving back to your seat. You pick up your book and headphones and waste no time isolating yourself from everyone else.

Spencer doesn't understand you at all. And he really wants to know what you're reading.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter will be a big one so bear with me!


	3. Your First Case

are you brave? the devil asked.  
no, she answered, but i am alive.  
_and sometimes those two things are the same_  
j.a.s

* * *

You are so, _so_  grateful you and Emily were sent to the first crime scene.

Yes, there is still evidence around and no, it's not completely clean, but it's old enough that everything seems to have a stale air surrounding it, like the environment itself is saying that keeping this preserved is a bad idea.

You can't really blame it.

You sigh as you step inside and Emily looks at you with her eyebrows raised. "You okay?"

Flushing, you clear your throat and turn to the detective, avoiding her question. "Is this type of crime typical of the neighborhood?"

Detective Borland is an overweight man in his early forties, with a perpetually red face and already receding hairline. He turns to face you and grunts. "Did you see outside?"

You don't answer.

With a scoff, he goes on. "Nothing this dramatic has happened recently, but this area is crime central. The people who live here are squatters, hookers, and broke college students. They practically invite lawbreaking in and let it sleep on their couches."

Trying to hide your disgust at the detective's tone, you turn your attention back to Emily, who is inspecting the bed. Choosing to keep your distance, you say, "This is a pretty high-risk area. It makes sense why the unsub wanted to start here."

"How do you know this was his first kill?"

"Well," you reply shakily, not realizing you'd been profiling. "While we don't know what actually happened during the...murder...it could be deduced that the unsub decided to kill her near the beginning and then found the beating to be so much fun that he continued."

"How so?"

"Um," your face feeling hot, "his kills became more violent and painful for the victims after this one."

Emily lets her gaze search you for a few more seconds - you want to melt into a puddle - but then she nods. "Good theory."

She goes back to exploring and you exhale deeply. You're never doing _that_  again. Wanting to get back to the case and forget that little incident, you join Emily in investigating, though stay on the perimeter to the room. Reaching the door, you recall some information from the case file. "There was no sign of forced entry," you say quietly, but loud enough for Emily to hear, as you peer at the door's lock.

"So she knew her attacker," Emily replies, and you're reminded of Spencer finishing your sentence back at the BAU. You'd caught yourself smiling at him again and hurried to break any kind of connection, your brain screaming at you to _stay away!_

Shaking your head, you continue along the wall, eventually reaching the vanity. On it sits a bouquet of flowers - one of the more unusual bunches you've seen. Checking to make sure Emily isn't watching you, and won't make fun of you, you bend down to smell them. As their fragrance wafts over you, something strikes you.

"These are new," you say loudly, standing up straight again. Emily appears next to you a few seconds later, examining the flowers. "These are real and they are new. Well, not new exactly, but they're not fake."

"Why would a grad student who's never home have real flowers?"

You must have the same thought as Emily, because you look at each other at the same time.

"The unsub brought them," you say together.

* * *

Pulling open the station door, you let Emily walk in first before following her. She leads you to the conference room the team has taken over, everyone already there. Morgan, Agent Hotchner, Rossi, and JJ are all sitting around the table, case files open in front of them and photos cluttering the rest of the table space. Spencer stands at the white board the BAU had requested, drawing on a large printout of a map of St. Louis. You watch as he creates a triangle - a perfect one.

You forget what you and Emily had discovered. "Reid? What are you doing?"

Spencer immediately stops and turns around. His expression is one of surprise, and you realize your mistake a little late: you'd actually initiated a conversation with someone on the team out of the blue.

You grow uncomfortable and wish Spencer would keep talking. Anything to get the focus off you. He must be able to read your mind because he springs into action. He jumps to the side and points at the map. "These are the three different crime scenes. You said they were roughly six miles apart, right, Y/N?"

You're the one who's surprised this time - had he just called you by your first name? - but Spencer's waiting on an answer. A little belatedly, you nod.

He shoots you a small smile. "In actuality, they are 6.2 miles apart from each other _exactly_."

"Exactly?" Morgan looks intrigued.

"Yes. The number 2 pops up again also. It has to be referencing the meaning of the number: relationships or companionship. Since these woman are young and attractive and embody the number 25, I believe Emily's idea that the unsub is dating them is correct."

"That reminds me!" Emily exclaims, and the rest of the team turns their attention to her. But you're looking at Spencer and he's looking at you - it's proving difficult for either of you to break your gaze. It isn't until you hear Emily say your name that you can look away.

Emily repeats the question. "The flowers are fairly new, right?"

"Yes," you say quickly. Your stomach is still churning from that damned eye contact. "They'd only just starting smelling like death."

"How can you possibly know that?" Morgan asks.

Oh, you don't want to answer that. But it's a valid question, relevant to the case, and to not answer it would say more than you want. So you reply, "I garden in my spare time."

The team is silent for a minute, digesting this information, and it's torture. You've just given them personal, private information about yourself and you feel like you want to die. You're just about to run from the room when JJ suddenly blurts out, "Oh my god!"

You can just feel all the eyes in the room lock onto JJ instead of you, and you breathe deep. JJ has her phone out and she's swiping madly, looking for something with an edge of desperation. "There!" She says triumphantly, and holds her phone so everyone can see what she found: a picture of a bouquet of flowers.

You gasp. "It's the same bouquet!"

"Reid," Agent Hotchner says, "was there a bouquet of flowers at the second crime scene?"

"Yes," Spencer answers immediately.

"Did it look like this?" JJ turns to show him the photo. Once Spencer has leaned in to scrutinize, he nods.

There's a release of tension as the first major clue of the case reveals itself.

Morgan pulls out his phone and hits speed dial.

"My loves!" Penelope's voice rings out happily. "What can the oracle help you with?"

"Baby girl, JJ is sending you a photo of a flower bouquet. We need you to do a search for it, find out the shops that sell it around here. We think the unsub is bringing and leaving one at each crime scene."

"Of course, oh gorgeous one. Ooh, I love carnations! But what are the other flowers?"

"Camellia, hollyhock, and pink daffodils," you answer automatically.

Spencer jumps in almost instantly. "The relevance of the meanings of the numbers 2, 5, and 25 make me think the meanings behind these flowers matter too. Camellias stand for 'my destiny is in your hands' - the unsub is again referring to fate as dictated by the universe, as well as symbolizing that the victims' lives are in his hands. Hollyhock stands for 'ambition' and daffodils in general mean 'new beginnings' - going along with the idea that the unsub needed a new sense of adventure. The most curious addition is the white and pink carnations. The color white means 'sweet and lovely,' while the pink means 'I will never forget you,' but the fact that they're two-toned adds another layer of meaning: 'I cannot be with you.' The unsub is complimenting his victims and saying they can't be together - while also telling them he won't forget what he did to them." Spencer's eyes had been darting around while he'd talked, landing on you more often than not. So he'd definitely caught the small smile you'd tried to hide but utterly failed to. You avoid his gaze, face burning from the inside out.

"Maybe this unsub just needs to stop reading into things so much," Penelope mutters and you let out a sharp breath - a laugh that's not quite a laugh. "I will search for these deadly flowers, my benevolent lords and ladies. Anything else before I dive into the depths of Google?"

"What have you found on the dating angle?" Agent Hotchner asks.

"Not much unfortunately. So far, none of these women have profiles on Match, Zoosk, Elite Singles, eHarmony, OkCupid, The League, Coffee Meets Bagel, Tinder, Bumble, Happn, Blendr, How About We, Tin Dog, Down, Hinge, Plenty of Fish, Inner Circle, Loveflutter, or Tastebuds. I even looked into FarmersOnly.com - no dice."

"FarmersOnly.com?" Rossi asks.

"Don't even ask. Also, our guy is not unexpectedly wealthy."

"How do you know?"

"The victims didn't use Luxy either. That site matches people with millionaires. By the way, I created a profile."

"For who?"

"Myself, of course!"

Morgan rolls his eyes while JJ giggles. "Garcia," Emily says thoughtfully, "can you make me one?"

Everyone looks at her.

"What?" She asks, defensive. "I could use a man with some money."

Penelope laughs and replies, "Of course, _chérie_ , I've already started making it! You're getting one too, Y/N."

Your voice comes out strained. "Um, why?"

"Like Emily said, hon, we could all use some money."

"How do you know she's not already dating someone?" This comes from Spencer - of course it comes from Spencer, why couldn't the universe put an end to this stupid crush - but before you can look at him again, Penelope scoffs.

"I handled her paperwork, silly."

You want to worry about that statement, but Penelope must sense the stern look on Agent Hotchner's face because she says, "I'll keep working and call you later," and promptly hangs up.

Agent Hotchner rubs his forehead harshly. "We need to do the interviews. Prentiss, I want you to interview Lucy Marvin's roommate. Y/L/N and JJ, Grace Bowen's ex-husband is still around. Interview him, but don't let him infer that he's still considered a suspect. I want to make sure he's not our guy."

You already know he isn't the unsub - there's no way he could be after how he completely broke down after hearing about her death - but you follow JJ out of the room without a word.

* * *

"Are you sure you're okay?" JJ is being overly nice - too nice for the situation.

"I'll be fine," you reply tightly, and look away. She sighs but lets it go.

The interview hadn't exactly gone as planned: not only did Grace Bowen's ex-husband break down again after they asked about her murder, he'd realized he was being treated like a suspect after you'd asked a question insensitively. You couldn't even remember the question, that's how bad his reaction was.

He'd instantly started yelling at you about how he'd never hurt Grace, she was the mother of his child, they had been married for pete's sake, how could you even ask that? And you'd apologized a thousand times, saying that you weren't implying he murdered Grace, but he wasn't having it. It was like he had reached the second stage of grief and then unloaded all of it on you. JJ had to cover his daughter's ears as she held her, looking like she'd wanted to help you but couldn't because of the child.

That was fine by you. You'd gotten yourself into this mess and you could get yourself out. Besides, you didn't want to owe her anything.

Ten minutes of yelling later - which felt more like ten hours - the ex-husband had tired himself out and left the room with this daughter. His insults had hurt but you couldn't show JJ that. So you pushed your feelings down and said you'd deal with them later.

You could feel them in the pit of your stomach, ready to ruin everything.

A voice comes whispering from the back of your mind. _"Is your desperation to stay removed from the team affecting how you connect to victims?"_ It asks, logical but ruinous. You don't even want to think about that, but the thought won't leave your mind. You start to become seriously worried that this job wouldn't be able to work out after all.

"JJ, Y/L/N," Agent Hotchner calls your names, breaking through your traitorous emotions. "It's time to give the profile."

You gather with everyone in front of the police department, still preoccupied with what had just happened. But Spencer's voice pierces through the fog, and as you listen to him explain the meaning behind the numbers and flowers and their importance, you have an idea.

The team wraps up the profile, letting the police get back to work, and you dash over to Spencer. "Spencer, where did you learn about the numbers' meanings?"

He just stares at you - you had just called him by his first name for the first time. But you don't have time for this. "Reid," you snap. "Where?"

"I read a book about it. It was about the uses of numbers in other subjects besides mathematics," he answers, clearly chagrined.

"Okay," you continue quickly. "How would a non-genius learn about them?"

"Several ways. Religious sources, spiritual guides, psychics--"

You clap your hands together. "That's it!"

Before he can ask what "it" actually is, you're pulling out your phone and calling someone.

"Y/N!" Penelope answers, her voice both surprised and excited. "You're calling me!"

No time to discuss _that_. "Penelope, I need you to do a search for psychics in this area, in the unsub's comfort zone. Send the list to the team. Please." And with that, you hang up.

By the time you've put away your phone, everyone else has surrounded you and Spencer. "Okay," you say, rather excitedly, "we know the unsub takes the meanings behind things like numbers and flowers seriously - so seriously he kills because of it. But where could he learn about them so intimately?"

"The internet," Morgan says, like it's obvious, and it is.

"Sure, but think about it. He's _killing_  because of these meanings. He's taken this to the absolute extreme. He has to be more dedicated than just using the internet. He would need actual guidance, from someone more spiritual than him. But who? There's no evidence of religious connection, so churches and whoever's inside them are out. And then I thought, what about a psychic?" You glance at Spencer. "Well, Reid thought it first, but it makes sense, right?"

Agent Hotchner assesses you and you begin to second-guess yourself.

"I like it," he finally says, and you perk up, surprised. Everyone's phones chime at that exact moment, and you open a file from Penelope - the list of psychics. There's only a handful, but more than one or two people can handle alone. "Y/L/N, you and Reid take the first half while Prentiss and Morgan take the second. I want quick in-and-out stops. Ask if anyone came in with questions about the numbers 2, 5, and 25. Use our existing profile. Dave, JJ, and I will stay here and keep digging. See you when you get back."

* * *

Apparently, you and Spencer are lucky when you work together. The first two psychics were dead ends, but the third one lights up in recognition when you describe the unsub.

"Yes," she says, "I remember now. He was a tall man, strong, confident. Dark hair, hard eyes. He came in asking about the number 25 and what it meant if he saw it repeated wherever he went."

"Do you remember his name?" You ask desperately, so close you could taste it.

The psychic's face turns sad. "Sorry, dear. My old brain can't remember like it used to."

You lean back, disappointed, as Spencer replies, "It's okay. We appreciate your help."

He follows you out of the building. "What's wrong?" He asks when he sees your face.

You feel so frustrated you could scream. "We're so close but nothing is concrete! And we're running out of time."

"We have a physical description now. We're on the right track."

You give him a look and are about to argue when both of your phones ping. Spencer pulls his out, but you're too irritated to do the same.

Maybe you should've, because Spencer looks back at you excitedly. "Penelope got a hit with the flowers! She couldn't find any shops that sold that exact bouquet, but she hacked into their systems to see if anyone bought it as a personalized one. She found one. We have the unsub's identity!" He holds up his phone and you see a picture of an attractive man with dark brown hair, intense eyes, and a carefree smile. "He matches our description! His name is David Parson and he's 33 years old. He's a researcher with a degree in transpersonal psychology!"

As you take in the information, you slowly realize that you had been right. Your hunch had been right! You laugh breathlessly, finally feeling like you belong in this job.

This is the most emotion Spencer's seen you show since...ever. When you realize, you try to cover it, but it's the most difficult thing you've ever done. Thankfully, your phone pings again and you take the opportunity to avoid Spencer. "Hotch wants us back at the station," you read off. Without looking at him again, you walk towards the car, leaving Spencer to catch up.

In the car, you still can't keep a small smile off your face. Spencer tries not to continuously stare, but his eyes keep coming back to you, so surprised by it that he can't look away for too long. Being in this car with him - being so close to him while you two are alone - makes you realize just how much he affects you. You can't help but look at him out of the corner of your eye, just as drawn to him as he is to you. His expression is intense and slightly happy, and he keeps licking his lips, making your heart do flip-flops. You want him to stop. You want to make him stop.

Finally, you make it back to the station, and you fall out of the car like it's on fire. You don't wait for Spencer, trying to put as much distance between the two of you as you can. When you get inside, the team beckons you over.

"Penelope's looking into the unsub," Hotch tells you. "Nice thinking, Agent."

You try not to outwardly preen, but inside you're doing cartwheels.

"I've hit the jackpot!" Penelope shouts.

"Did someone match you on Luxy?" Emily asks hopefully.

"No," Penelope replies sadly, "but I did figure out which dating app David Parson uses to find his victims: Disckreet. Super secretive, very hard to crack. But crack it I did."

"Has there been any recent activity?"

She hums and then exclaims, "He's been talking to a girl - Danielle Paisley - for the past two days." She's quiet as she skims their conversation. "Oh no, guys. They have plans to meet tonight."

"What time?"

"Seven."

"That's ten minutes from now!"

"Find and send us her home address ASAP, Garcia," Hotch says urgently. "Everyone else, get ready."

It takes Penelope less than a minute. "Done!"

"Let's go!"

* * *

You join the team at the potential victim's house, but refuse to go inside. You know that you wouldn't be able to handle it. Hotch wants to disagree, but he must see the desperation in your eyes because he agrees with a sigh.

"You can wait out here. Let us know if anything happens."

You nod and they take off towards the house. You don't even want to think about how attractive Spencer looks while holding his gun.

Listening over the comms, you hear the whole thing, from the team finding David Parson and Danielle Paisley to demanding he let her go to his sick reasoning to a gunshot. As the sound pops in your ears, you heart starts to race. Is Danielle okay?

(Is Spencer okay?)

A minute later, someone bursts out the front door, and you recognize it as Danielle. Rushing up to her, you pull her to you and hold her close, shushing and soothing her as she cries in your arms. She collapses halfway across the lawn and you sit with her, brushing her hair and rocking her back and forth. "It'll be okay," you whisper. "You're okay. You're alive and everything is going to be okay."

You don't even think twice about how you had to drop your act to care for her.

You and Danielle sit for longer than expected, and by the time she can get up and walk to the ambulance, the team is back at the cars. After making sure she's okay to go to the hospital alone - her parents will meet her there - you leave her with a hug and walk back to the group.

You slide into an SUV without talking to anyone, utterly exhausted and not wanting to exert effort to hide yourself away again. You don't even care when Spencer ends up sitting next to you, though you can feel his body heat on your side. You don't talk to or even acknowledge him, and he doesn't say anything to you, but you know that all your thoughts are going to be about him now.

Why do crushes have to feel so big?

* * *

On the jet home, you keep yourself isolated, listening to music with your eyes closed. Spencer watches you from across the aisle, not trying to be subtle since no one will notice. Everyone else is asleep, and if you open your eyes and see him, he no longer cares.

He keeps thinking about how you had acted with Danielle. You had been full of contradictions in those minutes - calm yet strong, warm yet fierce, kind yet firm. He's starting to think you yourself are just one big contradiction.

You yet not you.

He's lost in thought when you appear next to him, and he hadn't even realized you'd gotten up. You look nervous, and he kind of wants to give you a hug.

"What was he gonna do to her?"

Your voice is small and weak, but there's a strength behind it, a viciousness left unchecked.

Spencer squints at you. "Do you really want to know?"

"No," you answer, honest for once. "But I need to."

He hesitates, but he can read the torment in your eyes and sense the agony in your body. "He was going to scalp her."

You turn green and Spencer immediately regrets telling you. You turn and race to the bathroom and he follows, watching you close the door on him. He turns slightly and just waits, thankful no one else is awake to witness this, if only for your sake. He can hear you heave inside and he cringes, wishing he could comfort you.

When you finally emerge, face more exhausted than one should ever be, eyes haunted, he asks, "Are you okay?"

"I will be," you answer - bravely, he thinks - and leave him standing there. You go back to your seat and put your headphones in, staring out the window, trying your hardest to make those words come true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a. holy heck guys! that was a monster of a chapter  
> b. sorry for the kevin erasure but they made me sad in season 7 :(  
> c. i'm excited to post the next chapter!


	4. The Incident

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a. y/e/c = your eye color

Wearing a mask wears you out. Faking it is fatiguing. The most exhausting activity is pretending to be what you know you aren’t.  
Rick Warren

Pylades: I’ll take care of you.  
Orestes: It’s rotten work.  
Pylades: Not to me. Not if it’s you.  
Sophocles, _Elektra_

* * *

A few months later, you're officially okay.

For one, you feel comfortable in your job. Being thrust into everything right off the bat had shaken you - deeper than you'd like to admit - but it had prepared you well. Now, while every case didn't feel like a breeze exactly, they had become something you know intimately, like a lover. Might as well _be_  your lover; you spend enough of your time at the BAU for it to be true.

Speaking of the BAU, your crush on Spencer has lessened over time, much to your relief. It no longer feels huge and distracting and like it means absolutely everything. It's easy to work with him without wanting to kiss him every second you're next to him, and sometimes you don't even notice that he's there.

There's a voice in your head that keeps telling you,  _this is what happens after the honeymoon phase ends, honey. You're still in it, deep in it._  You can't fully dismiss the thought because okay, you still can't stop smiling whenever he rambles about genius things, and yeah, your heart still races when he looks at you. But you're not about to just like, explore those sensations; not when you're trying to shield yourself from him. So you just decide they will never go away and you'll just have to deal with them all the time. You already deal with hiding your entire personality away all the time, so what's a little more?

You still stay away from the rest of the team, but you keep finding yourself studying how they interact together, as friends, as family. Like one time on the jet, you'd been reading but without headphones, and you'd witnessed something you still can't forget: Morgan, Emily, and JJ had all teamed up and challenged Spencer to a chess game - and even you knew that was a risky move. Spencer readily agreed and they got down to it. They were lucky it was a long flight; they'd played two games and both had taken a long time to finish. Predictably, Spencer had beaten them in the first game, but the other three had demanded a rematch.

One of them must've had chess experience - or all three of them had a little and put it together - because they narrowly defeated Spencer, much to everyone's surprise. You still couldn't get their faces out of your mind - Spencer confused as to where he went wrong, Emily and JJ too stunned to even believe it, and Morgan immediately gloating that they'd won against the "genius with an IQ of 187."

But all of them had just let it be and that's where your inability to forget stemmed from. They had all ended up laughing over it, Spencer even teaching them some moves for the future, lecturing during most of it (you'd needed to use your book to hide your grinning mouth). No one was hurt, no one was upset, no one was angry. It just _was_ , and you weren't sure how that worked.

The only member of the team you couldn't seem to shake was Penelope. But honestly, shockingly, you didn't seem to mind. You realized that she's funny and kind and makes you feel like a badass - after a press conference once, she'd actually clapped when you were done, making everyone else clap too. You'd been embarrassed and slightly shaky under the attention, but it'd made you feel good, really good, about something you'd been unsure about (there's a lot of pressure being on TV).

The best part is that she never asks why you're not better friends with the rest of the BAU. To be frank, you're starting to think she hasn't even noticed. She invites you and only you to do friend things, and you'd surprised yourself by accepting. So far, you'd gotten dinner and drinks together, laughing and talking about things that aren't you or the BAU (you mostly talk about fictional characters - which ones you like, which ones you don't, which ones could be better, etc.).

It's nice, you think, vaguely. But whatever. It's not everything.

* * *

While you feel good at this point, Spencer is very, very frustrated.

After deciding that he was going to pretty much investigate you, he'd tried to learn everything he could. But now, he's hit a wall. Sure, he's got the basics:

A. He knows that you don't drink coffee. He doesn't think he's ever seen you lay one hand on the coffee maker, and the rest of the team finds it really, really weird that you don't partake in the coffee tradition that is a big part of the BAU. Instead, you come in every morning with a huge drink container from the gas station three miles from Quantico. It's always filled with a dark, carbonated liquid, but he still hasn't figured out which soda it is - he won't for a while, unless he figures out a way to taste it. He also doesn't know whether you don't drink coffee because you don't actually like it or if it's just a good way to avoid the team during breaks. He has to admit that if the latter is true, it's a smart way to stay hidden.

B. He knows you read mostly sci-fi and fantasy novels. Spencer had been able to pick up some of the titles by being around you on the jet and they'd been big names:  _Dune_ , _Ready Player One_ , _The Time Machine_ , _American Gods_ , _The Night Circus_...the list goes on. He really, really wants to talk about some of them with you, but he's resisted because he knows he needs to ask the real you, not this polite but distant version of you. He wants to talk about them with you to see your passion, to see if you liked them and why, to see what they made you think of the genre; not to get a one-word answer, a fake smile, and a hasty retreat.

C. He knows you listen to Taylor Swift. It's the same maneuver as when he learned about the books, but much harder to pull off. He'd only been able to find out when you'd gone to the bathroom once and left your phone and headphones on the seat. He'd been as quick as possible - darting to your seat, reading the screen in a second, and then putting it down and racing back to his own seat, not wanting to be caught. At that moment, you'd been listening to "Clean" from the album "1989." Spencer theorizes that due to her less-than-shining reputation, you listened to her as a guilty pleasure - most people did.

D. He knows you're smart. He thinks you're brilliant, actually. That'd been obvious from the very first case you'd worked, but you'd just proven with each subsequent one that you're secretly gifted - not wanting to show it off, of course. But he can see it; he knows when the gears in your mind take off and sometimes, he feels like he has to catch up to you.

E. He knows you're funny. Your sense of humor is mostly sarcastic, actually. Sense of humor must be the hardest thing to hide, because it's the only thing you kind of reveal to the team. Most of your humor is sarcastic quips that leave your mouth before you can think it through, and Spencer loves it. He loves that you can't push that back, that some of your personality is trying to get through and you can't stop it. And he loves what you say, too. Your sarcasm is well-honed and very witty.

F. He knows you're attractive. Obviously, you're attractive. You've got those Y/E/C eyes and those full lips and that shiny hair and that perky nose and those curves. Man, you've got great curves. More than once, Spencer's had to distract himself from staring at your body to keep from putting himself in an uncomfortable situation. A few times, he's had to fully leave the room. (If Spencer is being honest and could admit it, he likes you best during press conferences. There's something about seeing you on TV that's just captivating, the way you do your job effortlessly while gracefully handling the pressure of the media. You don't even get flustered when the press asks stupid or rude questions. He doesn't know, you just seem to glow. He hasn't missed one of yours yet.)

And that's it. That's all he's gathered about you. It took him about a month to learn all those things (some of them much quicker than that), and now it's been another full month, and he knows nothing more about you. He doesn't know what else to do. He's even started talking to you one-on-one, but even that doesn't get him anywhere - you're never impolite or unpleasant, but it's as if you're extra mindful of how long and how often you two talk, and once you reach the quota, no more dialogue is allowed.

It's so, _so_  frustrating.

* * *

One night, Spencer's at the office working late. The rest of the team had invited him to go with them - they were headed to a club opening Emily had connections to - but that isn't really his scene. Besides, he wants to get this paperwork done or he won't be able to relax and destress from the case later that night.

But his desk is still covered in paperwork and he's barely made a dent in it, two hours later. He sighs and grabs his coffee mug, just to find it disappointingly empty. He sighs again, much louder this time, and stands to get a refill.

That's when he notices the light is on in your office. You must be working late as well. That's not unusual - you have a lot to do - but it's rare when the team actually realizes you're still around. You still don't talk to anyone and you never leave your office to mingle. However, you have made a little progress: you've started saying "goodbye" to everyone when you leave for the night. It surprises everyone at first, but they eventually learn to just accept it and say it back, and know they won't get much more than that.

It's the little things, Spencer thinks.

Setting his mug back down, he moves without thinking, going up the stairs and to your office door. He knocks softly, still unsure why he's doing this, but you don't answer. He should leave, he knows this, but he finds himself opening the door, reasoning quickly that if you want to know why he's there, he'll just ask if there's anything he can get you, since he's available to and all. It's not that great of a reason, but it's better than no reason at all.

When he opens the door and looks inside, his mind goes blank.

You're crying. You're sitting behind your desk, a hand on your mouth, looking down at a case file open in your hands. Everything - absolutely everything - leaves Spencer's mind except for that image of you, and he's struck by how...unburdened you look at this moment. You don't look like you have the world on your shoulders. You don't look exhausted without even having talked to anyone yet. You just look...like you.

He has to think that hiding yourself all the time has to be utterly draining, and now that you're not...this must be how you look when you're relaxed. When you're carefree. When you're not thinking about what you're doing or saying. When you're not constantly watching your own behavior.

"Y/N? Are you okay?"

"Oh!" You look up quickly. Seeing him, you duck your head back down and swipe at your eyes. Sniffling loudly, your voice shaky, you say, "Spencer! I didn't hear you knock. I was just reading prospective case files. I'm fine, no worries."

He just looks at you. There's no way he's buying that.

Your eyes fill with more tears. Spencer watches as you stand, move around your desk, walk up to him, and just lay your head on his chest. He can feel you trembling.

He goes into instant protective mode - closing the door, walking you over to the couch and sitting with you, bringing you close to him. He finds himself tracing circles on your back and stroking your hair lightly. You're shaking harder now, and you bring your hands up to his back, grabbing the material of his sweater. He can feel their weight and tries not to shiver.

He wants to say something, but before he can, you speak.

"I'm just so--so tired of re--reading all these files. All these victim--ms. Their lives were c--cut so short and only their ki--ller knows why. Why them? Why them, S--spencer?"

"I--"

"You--you know, sometimes I h--hate my job, hate that m--my job is to read all--all of these cases and just p--pick and ch--choose which ones to sol--ve. They all d--deserve to be solved. All th--these victims deserve to be l--laid to rest. So why--why do we have to pick? Why d--do _I_  have to pick?" You hiccup. "I kn--knew this was the j--job when I took it, a--and I know I'm good--d at it, but it just--it just sucks s--sometimes. Spencer, I just w--wish it was easier than this--s."

Your words descend into sobs and you hold onto him for dear life. Spencer takes your weight and lets you cry. He can feel his heart breaking for yours. Your job is definitely the hardest, and you always have to stay stoic to do it properly.

No wonder you keep your distance from the team.

Spencer holds you for several more minutes, and they're the best minutes in his life by far.

Eventually, your sobs calm down into sniffles. He reaches behind you and plucks a tissue from the box, pushing you from his chest lightly to hand it to you. "Thank you," you say softly and blow your nose loudly. He thinks it's cute.

You wad up the tissue in your hand and look around for the trash can. As you do, Spencer can almost pinpoint the moment you realize what just happened and the panic takes over. You look up at him and he takes those precious seconds to stare into your red-rimmed eyes before you slide back under your mask. He wants to remember this. He wants to remember _you_.

You move out of his embrace like he's plague-contagious and dart around behind your desk. Grabbing your coat, purse, and phone, you move again, sliding past him to the door. You throw it open but turn back to him at the last second.

"Thanks for being there," you say quietly, and then you're gone.

Spencer stands there, alone in your office, and watches you speed walk down the stairs, through the bullpen, and to the elevator. You bounce on the balls of your feet until it arrives, and you practically slam the button once you're inside. Just as the doors are closing, you glance back up at Spencer, and you lock eyes for a split second.

Now there's another thing he's discovered about you:

G. He knows he's got feelings for you. The real you.

But it feels more like something he's discovered about himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a. finally some romance, right!  
> b. i'm guilty...i've been listening to t. swift lately  
> c. next two chapters will probably be the same format - description and then some action  
> d. hint for next chapter: i'll be mentioning guilty pleasures!


	5. Cracks

Are you done pretending yet? Are you done pretending you can cope with it when in fact, you absolutely can’t?  
Ernest Hemingway

* * *

That night, you tried to drown your sorrows. You didn't want to remember _anything_  about that encounter - not how he'd found you crying over unsolved cases, not how you'd decided to completely break down in front of him, not how he'd comforted you through it all. Not that it had been sweet and soothing and exactly like him.

Not that it had been...freeing.

Gin was your poison of choice, and you had a double as soon as you entered your apartment. Your hands were shaking from the intensity of it all and you spilled some of it on the floor, but the burn in your throat was more than enough to make you forget. Grabbing the bottle, you stumbled into the kitchen, pulling the tonic water from the fridge. You found the biggest glass you owned and poured a mix of the two - making it another double as well.

Once you'd downed that, things were starting to get blurry, but you could still remember how you had clutched his sweater, the soft, thin fabric letting your fingernails dig into your palms. You brought a hand up to your face and saw the half-moon marks, red and angry.

You slammed your hand down onto the counter, scrambling to make another drink. This time, there was more gin than tonic, and as soon as it went down you felt like it wanted to come back up. But you pushed it down - down with your feelings and emotions and true personality - and locked it all away.

Eventually, you fell asleep on your couch, the gin bottle mostly empty and tonic gone. When you woke up, your head was screaming at you, and you had to race to the bathroom before you threw up on your living room carpet. As you sat on the cold tile floor, your stomach hollow, you felt empty too. Just like your apartment. Just like your life.

You couldn't remember the last time someone had hugged you, much less held you as Spencer had the night before. Had anyone ever? Had anyone ever held you to their chest, and gently rubbed your back, and lightly stroked your hair, and rested their head on yours? Had anyone ever held you so close you could feel them breathing, deep and calm and reassuring; hear their breath in your ear, slow and even and peaceful? Had anyone ever cared so much to check on you or comfort you to the best of their ability just because they wanted to?

Had you ever let anyone?

That voice was back, and now it was saying, _lo_ _ok at your life. You have nothing, no one. No friends, no family. Your home is just you. Wouldn't it be nice to not feel so alone for once?_

And in that minute, you wanted to agree - you wanted to scream "yes" at the top of your lungs. You wanted people to fill every inch and second of your life - you wanted voices to float through your apartment like they belonged there and laughter to infuse your being so you wouldn't be so cold and even tears to fall to the floor so you knew you weren't the only one hurting. You wanted to be surrounded by everything so it wouldn't be just you, as it had been for so long.

But then a case popped into your head, unbidden. It had been in Seattle, Washington, where kids had been kidnapped by a pair of unsubs - a couple who believed the kids' parents didn't deserve them anymore because they had just gotten divorced. You and the BAU had thought you'd been able to save all of them...but one of them, the very first, had died in the hospital a few days later. The team had gotten the call from the child's doctor herself - and you could all hear the parents screaming and crying in the background.

You had been so proud of that case, so happy you had found them all alive, and that phone call had ruined everything. All of your hard work, all of your determination. It felt like when one bad grade affects a GPA: no matter what will come after it, you'll never get back to the same place as before. You'd had to leave the room after that phone call, trying to find the most isolated spot before you sobbed uncontrollably. Did the parents deserve that? Did the child? Did you deserve it, for some cosmic reason you couldn't even fathom?

And so you interrupted that voice, cut it off and closed the door and locked it and swallowed the key. You couldn't let anyone in. That kid could've been Jack or Henry. That couple could've been JJ and Will, Hotch and Beth.

You and Spencer.

You wouldn't let that happen, so long as you lived. That meant you had to keep the mask tied tight around your face and isolation chamber working. That meant you had to push everyone away and remain alone, your apartment empty, your life hollow. You had to forget, plain and simple.

But when you saw Spencer the next day, it wasn't that easy. As soon as you saw him, with his sweater and hair and height and gun and concerned smile, the whole thing came back with a fervor. And you couldn't forget how his chest had felt against your cheek, or how he had supported your entire weight willingly, or how he'd smelled like cinnamon and vanilla and pine trees all at once.

How tired you'd been before, and how relaxed you'd felt after.

With him, you'd tossed your mask behind you and shown him the person you keep hidden. And it had been such a relief to get rid of the ruse, even for such a short time, that it had almost felt like...sating a craving. It felt like an addiction, showing him the real you, and you were itching to relapse.

And relapse you did. You couldn't help it. It just felt so good whenever you did - just as freeing as the first time. There were cracks forming in your mask...and you were just letting it fall apart.

Like one time on the jet, you'd sat near the team instead of the farthest you could and purposefully didn't use your headphones so you could listen to what they were saying. And what you heard was interesting enough that you had to interact:

_Morgan asks Emily, “Well who’s your favorite superhero?”_

_"Batman, of course,” she answers smugly._

_Without looking up from your book, you say, “You know, he’s not actually a superhero.”_

_Everyone turns to you and just stares, probably because of what you said but more because you have never really interacted with them on the jet before. You’re afraid to look up but you do anyways. No one says anything, evidently waiting for you to continue. You wish you hadn’t spoken in the first place, but you’ve made your bed so now it’s time to lie in it._

_“Well, Batman — and his Marvel counterpart, Ironman — are not superheroes because they’re not ‘super’ at all. They’re just rich and can afford all their gadgets — they’re not genetically modified in any way. Take Captain America for example: he was genetically modified in a lab, and then used the powers he gained from that to become an iconic superhero.”_

_"So who aren’t proper superheroes?”_

_"There’s Maria Hill, Ant-Man, the Wasp, Black Widow, Hawkeye, War Machine, Daredevil, etc. There are more but I’m just forgetting them right now.”_

_“Who is your favorite superhero? And non-superhero, I guess.”_

_“Captain Marvel and Falcon.” And with that, you go back to your book._

That had been the first time. But now you were up to six different interactions with them on the jet, and your new permanent seat was the one across from where they all gathered.

Or that time you'd been working on a case for almost two weeks, and everyone was so frustrated all the time you could almost see the tension. When you and Emily had gotten back to your hotel room and you'd let your emotions show:

 _You stand in front of the mirror, watching as the steam from the shower you were supposed to be taking fogs up the glass. You couldn't get the latest victim's face out of your mind. If you'd been smarter, faster,_ better _, she might still be alive. She wouldn't have been taken apart in the morgue while her wife and daughters cried on your shoulder in the police station._

_Your hand grabs the first thing it can reach - your tube of toothpaste - and you scream as you hurl it at the mirror, splattering white across its surface._

_"Y/N?" Emily's voice is quiet outside the door. "Is everything okay?"_

_Not even really feeling it, you shout back, "Of course everything isn't okay! We could've saved her, but we didn't._ I _could've saved her, but I wasn't good enough!"_

_Emily's silent for a few seconds. Then finally: "Is the door open?"_

_You know you should say no, that she shouldn't come in, that this is closer than you want to be. But instead, you reply softly, "Yes."_

_She opens the door and steps into a room filled with steam. You don't move, still staring at your now blurred reflection. "Here," she says, pulling a towel from the shelf and wrapping it around your shoulders. She goes to the shower and shuts it off, and the quiet it leaves is deafening._

_"Sorry," you say, not looking her in the eye._

_She chuckles. "Nothing I haven't seen before on any other woman I know."_

_You crack half a smile and let her lead you from the room. She sits you on the bed and rummages through your bag for the sweats and oversized t-shirt you sleep in. She gives them to you and you pull them on slowly, trying not to blush from her presence. At least she's kind enough to turn while you get dressed._

_When you're done, you sit back down. She seems to have an idea and rushes into the bathroom. When she comes back out, she's holding a hairbrush. "Sit back," she instructs gently, "get comfortable." You follow along and get situated on the bed in the most agreeable pose you can find. She climbs up and sits behind you, resting the brush at the crown of your head. "Let me know if it hurts," she whispers._

_You nod your head and she pulls the brush down, working through any knots she finds. She does this for a long time, and by the time she's finished, you're more relaxed than you have been in a month. She moves off the bed and encourages you to lay back, tucking you under the covers. As your eyes droop shut, you murmur, "Thank you."_

_"Of course," she replies, and you can hear the smile in her voice._

And now, you and Emily are permanent hotel room buddies. Nothing as intimate had happened since that first time, but you frequently watch late-night talk shows together and talk about the books you're reading and argue whether to have the air conditioning on (you always win - you need it on to sleep).

The worst part (the best part?) is your relationship with Spencer. You'd tried much harder to stay away from him - he was the one who got you into this mess, after all - but he's also the hardest to avoid.

Because you want to see him.

That stupid, _stupid_  crush came creeping up again, and this time you couldn't push it down. It just grew and grew and grew. It's still growing. It's still making your insides turn to mush when he talks directly to you and smile uncontrollably when he's rambling about something brilliant and heart melt when he asks what you're reading when you have a new book.

It's terrible.

It's wonderful.

Like one time, when you'd found yourself stuck with more paperwork than should be possible, and Spencer had come to your rescue:

_A knock comes upon your door. You call out, "Come in," without looking up from the form you were filling out. You were almost done. Well, once you're done with this form and the one after that and the one after that, you were almost done._

_With a sigh, you scribble your signature, and look up to see Spencer standing in your doorway, nervously holding a soda bottle with its label completely torn off. You furrow your eyebrows as you look at it, and he looks down to. "Oh!" He says, and presents it to you. "That's for you. I thought you might need it."_

_You had just been thinking that you needed a caffeine refill and look up at him gratefully. Taking it, you reply, "That's really sweet. Thanks, Spencer." You turn the cap, making sure it doesn't fizz all over the place, and take a swig._

_Almost immediately, you gag, making a face like you'd just ingested poison. You go to look at the container, but the label was still gone. "What is this?" You ask, looking up at Spencer again._

_His face is warring between an apology and a smirk, trying not to laugh at your reaction. "It's Dr. Pepper."_

_You stick your tongue out in disgust. "Ugh. I hate Dr. Pepper."_

_"Good to know," he replies, and he's definitely masking a laugh._

_You give him a glare. "That's not nice, Dr. Reid. I don't spike your coffee with salt instead of sugar, do I?"_

_Now the laugh comes out. "No, but I wasn't sure what you drank! I took a chance on something 16.56 million people drink in the U.S. alone."_

_"Well," you say, handing the bottle back to him, "just so you know, I prefer Coca-Cola."_

_He takes the offending bottle and studies you. "Stay right here," he says finally, and dashes out of your office. You just look at where he was standing seconds ago before turning your attention back to your paperwork._

_Two minutes later, Spencer reappears - this time holding a newly bought Coca-Cola. "Here you go," he says breathlessly, holding it out to you. You take it with a giggle and open it slowly. It doesn't explode and you take a sip. "Much better," you sigh, and Spencer's face lights up with joy._

And now, dammit, you two have a rapport. The one person you wanted to stay away from, and now he's the person on this team you're closest with.

(Besides Penelope, of course. You two are still "besties," as she likes to say, and you've kind of grown to like the term. You actually do more things together, and sometimes, another member of the team will join. Like when you and Penelope had planned on getting dinner, and you showed up to find Spencer and Morgan there with her. Instead of leaving immediately, you'd joined them and actually had a great time. Spencer's foot had knocked against more times than you could count, and by the end of the night, you couldn't tell whether it was on purpose or accident. But you didn't want it to stop, so you didn't say a word.)

Worst of all, it seems as if the team had begun to notice this new side of you, the revealing side. They started inviting you to things - dinner, drinks, movies, even an amusement park once. You usually refused, but it just became nicer and nicer whenever they asked.

Which is why, one night, after a particularly draining case, you find yourself saying yes to their invitation to go out to a bar.

* * *

"Let's play Never Have I Ever!"

Wait...did that come from you?

The rest of the group laughs but you keep your earnest expression. "Come on! It'll be fun!"

"Y/N, we know you're the youngest here, but aren't we a little too mature for Never Have I Ever?" Morgan asks with a smirk.

You stick your tongue out at him. "One, I'm not that much younger than any of you, so don't pull that 'Gen Y vs. Millennial' shit. Two, if I've learned anything from this job, games like Never Have I Ever are the only way to truly destress from what we go through every day. And three, who are you calling mature? None of us, including you and me, are remotely mature. I'll leave that to Hotch and Rossi any day."

Morgan, Penelope, Emily, JJ, and Spencer all laugh but eventually agree to the game. Clapping excitedly, you order couple rounds of shots so everyone has something to drink when the time comes. When they arrive, you point at Morgan. "Since you argued, you get to go first."

Morgan raises an eyebrow and you stare him down. "Okay," he finally says. He ruminates for a minute. "Never have I ever...had a boyfriend." You, Penelope, JJ, and Emily all groan. "Wait!" Morgan says with a snicker. "You have to have a separate drink for each one. Long-term only - I'm not out to kill you by alcohol poisoning."

Penelope drinks twice, recounting Sam and Kevin. Emily drinks four times (!), asking if Ian Doyle counted. You all shout out variations of "No!" and she laughs, glad knowing you're all on the same page. JJ drinks twice too, mentioning a college boyfriend and then Will. "Does it count if he's my husband now?"

"Yes," Emily counters, "he was your boyfriend at one point, right?"

JJ just gives her a look and downs the second shot.

Then everyone's looking at you. You line up three shots on the table in front of you and pick up the first one. "Nick, my high school boyfriend," you say before downing it. "Charlie, from college." The second shot goes down. "And Grant, from grad school." You finish the third. You stack the shot glasses on top of each other.

"Has there been anyone serious since?" JJ asks. You try not to, but blush while replying, "No." You try to keep your eyes off Spencer, but you can't help but notice out of the corner of your eye that he seems very interested in this conversation.

"Penelope," you says, pointing, hoping your burning face will calm down soon. Spencer lets his eyes linger on you before turning to Penelope.

"Never have I ever...fired a gun."

Everyone, including yourself, gives her the finger while taking a shot. She just looks very proud of herself. Morgan concedes it was a good turn and gives her a high-five.

Everyone looks to Emily. "Never have I ever...attended Comic Con." You, Spencer, Penelope, and Morgan all grab a shot. After you take yours, you notice Spencer's expression.

"What's wrong?" You ask him personally.

"Nothing, I'm just...I'm a little embarrassed," he replies, his cheeks tinged red.

"You should never be embarrassed by that. In fact," you turn to face the group and raise your voice, "no one should ever be embarrassed about what they like. This is a PSA: guilty pleasures don't exist. You do whatever the fuck you want, and everyone else can go fuck themselves."

The group cheers and whistles as you look back at Spencer. He's smiling at you and you pointedly look at the shot still in his hand. He brings it to his mouth and swallows it, his Adam's apple bobbing with the action. You watch it, feeling something stirring in your lower half, and then he's locking eyes with you again. You look away quickly before he can deduce your pupils have dilated with desire or something along those lines.

You remember Morgan grabbing a shot. "Before we move on...Morgan? When were you at Comic Con?"

He laughs. "A couple years ago, this little lady," he embraces Penelope, "had no one to go with. So I tagged along. No, I didn't dress up, and yes, I enjoyed it."

You give him a high-five across the table.

JJ has to think before she finds the right line. "Never have I ever...been to Asia." Emily is the only one who drinks, and as she looks around the group - who are all watching her - she shrugs and says, "Interpol life."

"JJ, I love you, but that was kind of weak," Penelope says with a grin.

JJ laughs. "I just said it because it'll only be true for another week. Then the Jareau family is headed to Japan for vacation." The team cheers again, and everyone takes turns to wish her luck, safety, and fun.

Everyone turns to you again, but you lean close to Spencer. "I'm worried about mine. I don't think it's very good."

"Why not?" His voice is soft and right next to your ear and his breath is giving you goosebumps.

"It _could_  be considered clever, I guess, but I don't know. Maybe it's not good at all."

"Well, it'll probably be brilliant because you're brilliant."

You look up at him and his eyes are bright and eager, and his smile is wide and unencumbered, and his face is inches from yours. You're blushing as you say, "Never have I ever...died."

Everyone just looks at you. You throw your hands up, giving Spencer a look. You can tell he wants to say something but you move on before he can. You stare at Emily and say, "I know all about your story so you have to drink."

She nods and downs a shot. It's as if her concession has cleared up the issue, and Morgan and Spencer both take shots too. You're intrigued by Morgan but look at Spencer instead. He seems a little uncomfortable, and you come close again so he doesn't have to say it loudly.

His mouth is near your ear again, and you have to really work to focus on his voice instead of his breath on your neck.

"Years ago, I was kidnapped by the unsub while on a case. He um, killed me but then revived me right after."

It seems like there's more to the story, but you can feel him shaking slightly against you. You grab his hand and squeeze it, trying to tell him how sorry you are that that happened. He squeezes back.

Morgan clears his throat and you and Spencer let go of one another like you've both been burned. The group is smirking but doesn't say anything. You stare at the ground, trying to will the burning in your cheeks to fade as quickly as possible.

Spencer takes a few seconds but he finally speaks, his voice unsteady, "Never have I ever...gotten a degree in communication."

This line takes precedent over trying to hide your feelings, and you snap your head up to look over at JJ, who stares back at you. Together, you move your attentions to Spencer, who is still blushing furiously but is now smirking. You continue to glare at him while you pick up a shot, but turn to clink it with JJ's, both of you draining it in a heartbeat.

When you put the glass down, your hand starts moving in your line of vision. You grab it to still it, but it still moves, and you come to the conclusion that you're drunker than you should be.

You stand and almost fall over, you're so woozy, but Spencer's hands dart out to catch you. They land on your waist and stabilize you, him standing right after to make sure you're good. "I need water," you say, possibly a little too loudly, and turn towards the bar. Spencer turns with you, moving one hand to the small of your back.

He leads you away from the table, and the team just watches it all unfold. They see how he maneuvers you to get to the bar safely and sits you in a stool and asks the bartender for water while never taking his hands off you. They see how he hands it to you with care, pays attention so you drink all of it without spilling, asks for a refill as soon as the glass is empty. They see how he looks at you with soft eyes and a sweet smile, how you gaze back with adoration.

Penelope gasps. "They're so cute! I think we should--"

"Ah-ah, baby girl," Morgan intervenes. "I don't think so. That's a bad idea."

"But why not? They would make a great couple and I could be the reason for their happiness!"

Morgan looks back over at you and Spencer. Now you're laughing and he's looking triumphant, his hand still protectively wrapped around you. But your hands are locked in your lap, as if you're restraining yourself from touching him, and he can tell that your laugh isn't as carefree as it could be. "Something tells me that if we tried that, we'd end up losing her instead of bringing her closer."

Penelope doesn't reply, and they all know he's right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a. sorry dr. pepper stans  
> b. i miss emily :(  
> c. sorry for any misinformation in this chapter, like if penelope actually has shot a gun or morgan has never really died...i'm only on season 9 now so *shrugs*  
> d. this chapter wrote itself differently than i expected so sorry? if it doesn't fulfill expectations


	6. The Case

Love has a powerful way of removing the mask [you] insist on wearing.  
Jessy

* * *

"So I'm sitting in the dirt, watching this gorgeous butterfly tread lightly near me, when Cerberus just darts out! and eats it! right in front of me!"

Yes, that's you, recounting a story about the time your Venus flytrap ate a butterfly while you were weeding your small garden.

No, the team doesn't really know how to handle it. Except for maybe Spencer, who's too focused on the story, and watching you tell it, to realize the gravity of the situation: you're actually telling them about something that had personally happened to you while you were alone, and you're okay with it.

"Of course, I scolded him immediately after. I'm glad it was merely just a butterfly, not a bee. They're disappearing, you know. I have a friend who's out saving them right now."

"Really?" Spencer asks eagerly.

You nod happily. "Mhm. She's got her Master's in Entomology from somewhere in the west and she's researching colony collapse disorder."

Morgan whistles. "Y/N, you got friends in all the high places."

You give him a look. He just snickers.

No one can really believe that this is how things are now. Instead of backtracking or taking back everything you did at the bar that night, you've just opened yourself up _more_. You and Emily have a permanent routine whenever you room together (it involves watching something right before bed and sharing a candy bar, the choice of which switches case to case); you've moved up to having the whole team hang with you and Penelope (it started slow but soon everyone has joined, Hotch even came once); you allow yourself to get worked up over cases in front of the rest of the team (they're just relieved because it means you're handling it better than before).

But the thing that everyone has _really_  noticed is that you and Spencer have been spending a lot of time together. In public. Alone. It began small, like everything else. Suddenly you were taking breaks in the actual break room at the same time as Spencer, and you two were talking the whole time. Then he was inviting you to lunch and you were saying yes and you'd go off. And then you were leaving your door open and Spencer would spend his afternoons in your office, finishing his paperwork on your couch or helping you go through case files and debating them with you.

It all just kept happening, more and more, and the team doesn't even know how to rationalize or explain it. It just is.

God, you two are even flirting now. Take this instance, for example, since it's ingrained into the memories of everyone who witnessed it:

_"So why don’t you drink coffee?”_

_You sigh. You think you’ve explained this to everyone and their mother. “Love the smell, hate the taste.” It’s almost a motto. “I prefer Coke.”_

_This is when Spencer decides to enter the conversation. “Y/N, you’re a drug addict?” A smirk plays on his lips._

_You try not to smile at his teasing tone and answer with fake seriousness. “Yup, Spence. I don’t like coffee so I gotta get my kicks another way. Besides, drinking is so last year. Snorting is in style.” Morgan does just that - snorts. “See?” You say, pointing to him._

_“You know, insufflation - the act of snorting cocaine - can be very bad for your health. Not only does it damage your nose in potentially permanent ways, like bone loss, collapsed nasal passages, and loss of sense of smell, exposure to cocaine through insufflation weakens the body’s ability to filter air before it passes into the lungs. It can actually lead to necessary reconstructive plastic surgery. Not to mention all the harmful effects of being addicted to cocaine in general.”_

_Morgan’s wandered away by the time Spencer’s done, but you’re still listening, looking at him fondly. “Aw, Spence, I didn’t know you cared so much.”_

_He flushes. “Well, I uh, just want to you to be...informed — not that I don’t care about you — I mean your health — I mean you too, I care about you of course, I care about everyone on the team...” He stumbles to a close and you’re smiling uncontrollably. How is he making you fall so hard for him without even trying?_

_That’s when you notice that the room is unusually quiet, and you look around to see everyone else watching the two of you. Realizing that maybe you’ve gotten closer than you meant to, you give him a tight smile and say, “Thanks, Spencer,” before escaping to the break room._

_Spencer watches you go and then turns back to everyone else, giving them a look. “Thanks, guys. Now you’ve made her go back to using my full name.”_

Yeah, that's still happening too. While you are Spencer are getting closer and it's like the cutest thing ever (Penelope's words), everyone can tell that you're still holding back.

They even tried to talk to Spencer about it (well, Penelope did), immediately after the aforementioned flirting:

_Penelope walks up to him. “I’m sorry, boo. You know, if you would just let me--“_

_“Oh, no baby girl. We talked about this.”_

_But Spencer wants to know. “Let you what?”_

_Penelope brightens and continues, Morgan shaking his head. “If you would just let me work my magic and bring the two of you together, then none of this would be an issue--“_

_“No no no no no, you can’t do that,” Spencer bursts out. He looks back at the break room entrance but you’re still hidden. He lowers his voice. “If you do that, I can pretty much guarantee we would just drive her off. And the point is to bring her closer, not push her away.”_

_“See? I told you, sweetness.”_

_Penelope looks between Morgan and Spencer, lost and confused. “But how do you know? You two could fall in love instead of keep dancing around each other! She could be a part of the family instead of the weird cousin who never shows up to anything!”_

_Spencer is silent for a minute, trying to think of how to explain your behavior. Finally he says, "Do you remember how we all felt when Emily ‘died’?” Everyone nods. "It's like that."_

_Before anyone can ask what the hell that even means, you appear from the break room and everyone springs apart. It would've looked super weird if you'd been paying attention, but you're so focused on getting back to your office without drawing more attention to yourself that it doesn't even register. When you're safely tucked away inside, the team turns to Spencer to get their answers, but he's nowhere to be found._

Yeah, that's frustrating as hell. But, the team knows it's only a matter of time. No matter how much you're holding back, you're revealing more and more of yourself every day. At some point, you're going to break, and they want to be ready for it. So they do what they do best: they make a pool. It's split up by weeks - because no one knows how long you'll drag this out - and stretches as far as six months into the future. (They'd spent a long time making this chart.) It's only for the BAU - they're not out to spread it around - but everyone on the team save for you and Spencer is in on it. (Everyone.)

They're thinking about whether it'd be against the rules to create a reason for you and Spencer to finally get together. They've yet to discuss it as a group, but every one of them has had the same thought.

Little do they know that the catalyst is already on its way.

* * *

When you read the case file, the first thing you do is thank the universe Spencer isn't spending the afternoon in your office.

The second thing you do is talk to Hotch.

You knock on his office door. "Sir?"

Hotch looks up and motions you inside. You stand awkwardly in front of his desk as he puts his signature on some forms. You can count the number of times you've been in here on one hand. You're not really the one to be called into the boss's office.

Finally, he's done and focuses on you. "Y/N."

"I got the case you sent this morning..." You fiddle with the folder in your hands.

"Yes," he states. "I'd like to present it within the hour."

"Sir, are you sure we should take this case?"

His stern expression softens a little. "It came directly to us. We've been ordered to take it."

"And I'd never want to go against orders, you know that," you rush to say, "rules are rules and we live by them, but this case seems especially personal for us," _for me_ , "and I'm not sure it's the best idea when someone," _my someone_ , "is so scarily similar to the other victims, I really don't want anyone," _him_ , "to get hurt or worse so maybe this case isn't for us."

Hotch had thought about stopping your rambling, but he found it oddly reminiscent of Spencer and just couldn't. When you're done, his eyes and tone are kind. "I know how this affects us, and it worries me just as much as you, but it's out of my hands. This one actually goes above me."

You try to smile and crack a joke. "I didn't know that was possible, sir."

Hotch's smile is tight in response and you swallow hard. This is going to be something else.

* * *

"Um, Miami police have found the bodies of three men in abandoned warehouses around the city, always near a body of water. The men had been abducted, tied up, and left there without nourishment. The unsub had contacted their families, giving them difficult clues and puzzles to figure out where their loved one was being held. After three days with no luck, the unsub shot them in the head."

"Clues? Puzzles? Why give the families a chance to save them?"

You can't keep your eyes off Spencer.

"The police theorize it was because all of the victims had unusually high IQs. The unsub was probably taunting them that they couldn't find them without the victims' help."

Spencer goes through waves of emotion, each one cresting after the another. At first, he's shocked - by the cruelty, the unfairness, the gore. Then he's scared - scared of his own intelligence, for once. But then he's firm - determined, like no one can make him back down from this fight.

You know that look. You love that look. But right now, it _terrifies_  you.

The team's discussion washes over you as you and Spencer stare at each other, one resolute, one afraid.

"None of the crime scenes show any signs of remorse, so it's probably a male unsub."

"I would guess that he's near the same age as the victims, and of high intelligence. There's no other way to explain the puzzles."

"He doesn't have to be smart. He could've found those a million different ways. The internet is a wonderful place."

"We'll need another look at those. Maybe Reid can decipher them if needed."

"I can," Spencer says, his voice daring, his eyes still locked on yours.

"None of the crime scenes are especially close to each other, so it's a wide comfort zone. He's probably from Miami and knows the city like the back of his hand."

"No sexual assault, so not a sexual sadist. He probably thinks he's above that, with his intelligence."

"There isn't a pattern of when he's abducting either, which will make it harder to track him down. Although we might find something further into the investigation."

"So let's go find it. Wheels up in thirty."

Suddenly, you're alone in the room and Spencer is standing in front of you.

"Y/N." His voice is soft. "Are you okay?"

You gaze up into his eyes and they're kind, but you can see the resolve swimming behind them. You feel like crying. You have to steady your voice before you can speak. "I don't want to take this case."

He pulls you into a hug. "I know," he whispers into your hair. You hold him close and close your eyes at his weight.

"How can you be so sure you want to work it? Maybe you should stay here. You could help Penelope."

"Y/N, you know I hate staying behind on cases. Besides, my intellect and IQ can help. You'll need someone who can figure out all those clues he left for the other victims."

"That doesn't make me feel better."

He pulls away to look you in the eyes. "It will be okay. We'll solve this case, catch the unsub, and be back home in time for the new episode of _Doctor Who_. Everything will be fine. I promise."

"You promise?"

"Cross my heart and hope to die."

You glare at him. He winces.

"Poor choice of words. What I meant was absolutely. I absolutely promise it'll all be okay."

You're still wary but nod slowly. Spencer smiles and gives your hands a squeeze before walking from the room. You just watch him go, having a sinking feeling that taking this case is a mistake.

* * *

You can barely focus on anything during the plane ride. The only thing you're able to think about is Spencer, who sits next to you with his leg pressed against yours the entire time. The rest of the team talks about victimology and you try to hear them, try to understand, try to participate, but you just can't. And the team doesn't mind. They all seem to get how you're feeling, even though you're not supposed to be letting yourself feel this way.

When you touch down, you're jolted out of a nightmare fantasy where Spencer had been kidnapped and then shot in front of you, right through the brain, spraying you with blood. When Spencer - the real Spencer - had snapped you out of it, you'd been surprised to find yourself clean and pure; it had seemed that lifelike.

The police station is more of the same. You can't retain anyone's name or title, and your eyes keep glazing over as you think about how many ways this case could go wrong. How many different ways Spencer could be killed.

You're all sent to the separate crime scenes. Hotch tries to talk you out of investigating but you insist on going - and you insist on going with Spencer. He agrees, but you're forced to explore the latest crime scene, since that's where Spencer is needed most. It's still fresh: there're blood stains on the floor and the chair with the rope is still sitting in the middle of the room. It's so hard for you to handle that Spencer has to hold your hand through it; you feel guilty about it but he seems more worried about you than investigating the scene.

Back at the station - you miss his hand in yours - Spencer looks at the puzzles the other victims' families had received. The rest of the team conducts interviews. You'd tried to say you could help with those too (you've gotten better since the first), but Hotch staunchly disagreed. He keeps you holed up with Spencer, who discovers that each puzzle is specific to its respective victim - meaning the unsub is as smart as all of them. That is the one piece of information that sticks, and only serves to make your visions more vivid. This is evident when you wake up screaming, having fallen asleep while Spencer was still working.

He rushes over to you and hugs you as you shake, recounting that he'd been shot five times in front of you, while you were the one tied up and unable to move. The team comes in as you try not to sob, still trembling from the intensity.

"Y/N, go to the hotel. You need to get some rest," Hotch orders gently. You know he's right - you're exhausted and absolutely no help to them in this state - so you nod dejectedly. Spencer kisses your forehead lightly and then stands, walking over to Hotch. You get the impression that you're not supposed to hear their conversation, but you do.

"I'm going with her," Spencer says firmly. Hotch sighs.

"You can't. We need you here." His voice is filled with regret.

Spencer's tone grows tight. "No, you don't. I'm going with her. You can reach me by call or text."

"Reid--"

"That was not a request!" Spencer snaps, and Hotch closes his mouth.

Spencer walks back over to you and pulls you to your feet, putting his arms around you to keep you steady. He leads you from the room without letting you look back at everyone else.

* * *

Once you're in the car, with the A/C lightly blowing and radio gently playing and the bright moonlight spilling in, you feel calmer. You're not sure if it's the atmosphere, Spencer's presence, or both, but you can finally breathe deeply and think about something other Spencer's fate. Which reminds you of something.

“Spence?”

He hums in response. You look down at your lap, suddenly second-guessing what you were going to ask. Spencer’s hand comes into view and grabs yours. “Y/N, you know you can talk to me about anything.”

“Well…” You breathe deep. “It’s actually a question.”

“Okay.”

“About you.”

“Okay.”

“Can I ask it?”

“Of course.”

“Do you remember when we went out with the team to that bar, and we had dinner and drinks, and we played Never Have I Ever?”

How could he forget? “Yeah.”

“Was there more to the story about your ‘death’? I could sort of tell but I didn’t want to pry since it’s personal and all but I’ve been thinking about it lately and I want you to know you can tell me anything too and--“

“Y/N.” He cuts you off and you shut up. You're so embarrassed you don’t see Spencer’s smile at your rambling.

“Well,” and now it’s his turn to take a deep breath. “While I was kidnapped, the unsub had dissociative identity disorder - he had multiple personalities. You know that the ‘evil’ one - 'Raphael' - killed me and then the ‘good’ one - the real person, Tobias - revived me. While I was being held, 'Raphael' would torture me. He thought I had sinned and was trying to force me to confess.”

You gasp and hold Spencer’s hand tighter. “That’s horrible. I’m so sorry.”

“When ‘Raphael’ wasn’t around and Tobias was, he would give me something he had used when he was being abused by his own father. He injected me with Dilaudid, a hydrogenated ketone of morphine - an opioid agonist. Basically, it got me high. After the case was over, I--I had some more trouble with Dilaudid. I became an addict.”

You turn to stare at him.

“I’ve been clean for years now. I can show you my five-year chip later, if you’d like. That was a rough time for me, and I’m not proud of it. But I overcame it, and I haven’t had a craving in a long time.”

“Spencer…” You breathe. “That’s inspiring.”

He flushes at the compliment. You admire the way the red looks against his hair for a minute, but shake yourself out of it. You turn to look out the window. You’re playing gently with his hand, lost in thought.

Before you know it, Spencer's pulling into the hotel. He parks and you both get out - you don't need his help anymore. Still, he holds out a hand, and you take it with a smile. The parking lot is empty and there's no one around - no need to hide here.

You've just reached the sidewalk, ready to turn the corner, when something hits you on the back of the head, hard. You lose Spencer's grip and fall, your vision blurring and partly blacking out. The ground comes up to meet you, unyielding, and you feel like you get a second hit just from the pavement alone.

You think you hear your name being called, but you can't focus on anything. You're not even sure where you are. Are you even alive?

Is Spencer okay?

With that, everything goes black.

* * *

You wake up to an endless ringing. You're lying on the ground, outside of the hotel and near your car. Okay, the car is still there. A good sign. You check yourself for injuries but don't find any, save for a throbbing bump on the back of your head. Another good sign. You sit up and look around.

No Spencer. Bad sign. Really bad sign.

"Spencer!"

No answer except for the ringing. Finally realizing it's a phone, Spencer's phone, you pick it up and answer. "JJ?"

"Y/N? Where's Spencer?" The worried tone of her voice makes you feel uneasy. You try to swallow, but a lump has formed in your throat.

"I--I don't know."

"What do you mean you don't know?"

"We were--we were attacked. Someone knocked me out. I just woke up and JJ, Spencer isn't here. He's gone."

There's muffled noise and then Hotch's voice comes through loud and clear. "Y/N, we need you back at the station now. Can you get here?"

You look around you. Choking back an absurd laugh, you reply, "Yes, he left the car. He even left me the keys, even though Spencer was driving."

"Are you okay to drive?"

You check yourself for signs of depth perception issues or symptoms of a concussion, but don't find anything. "Yes. I'll be there as soon as I can." You hang up without letting Hotch reply. Jumping up and grabbing the stranded keys, you leap into the car. Driving as fast as your law-abiding self will allow, you race back to the station. You pull out your phone and call Spencer, feeling it buzz in your pocket. You leave a message:

"Spence. I know you won't hear this until after the fact, but I have to say it now or I feel like I might burst. You better be okay, I  _need_ you to be okay. You can't die on me before we even get to be together, yeah? That'd be like the worst ending ever. You promised that everything will be fine. Now I promise too. And you know that we don't break promises."

The message ends itself and you throw your phone to the passenger seat. Finally, you make it to the station. You burst through the doors and the whole place goes silent. Everyone just stares at you. You feel scared and panicked and worried. You feel like you might vomit.

"Y/N? Are you there?" Penelope's voice comes from the BAU laptop.

You rush over to the desk, everyone practically leaping back from you, and stand in front of the screen. "I'm here, Penelope. What is it? Is it Spencer?" She doesn't reply, just plays a video.

In it, Spencer sits unconscious. Rope ties him to the chair, his ankles bound and his arms forced behind his back. His head hangs down, hair falling limply across his face. Then, a gun enters the frame, followed by the man holding it. The unsub wears a mask, and he walks slowly towards Spencer, digging the muzzle into his temple. You choke on air. When he speaks, his voice is like nails on a chalkboard.

"I have what you are missing. I understand he is the genius of the team. IQ of 187..." He whistles. "I wonder if you are smart enough to get him back without his help. I will give you three hours to find him, otherwise..." His finger lightly touches the trigger. "Bang!"

You jump back into someone, their hands going to steady you. The unsub laughs, as if he could see your reaction. "I wish you luck." And the video cuts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a. shoutout to my best friend who's actually studying colony collapse disorder!  
> b. sorry there's like no case action, i just knew that in order to update sooner rather than later i couldn't focus on figuring out all those details (idk how the writers do it)  
> c. sorry if i got details about spencer's previous torture wrong, i researched but short of rewatching the ep (bc i just couldn't if i wanted this story posted now) that's all i could get  
> d. yes, that was a reference to spencer and maeve because dammit they deserved better  
> e. are you ready for the next chapter? (tbh i'm not)


	7. The Cavalry

I defy the stars;  
I defy Heaven and Hell.  
The laws of the universe say that the man I love is lost to me.  
I say: Watch me save him.  
_He saved me first, you know  
_[c.k](http://widowbitesandhearingaids.tumblr.com/)

* * *

You can’t breathe.

You can’t breathe and you can’t think.

You can’t breathe and you can’t think and you can’t feel.

Are you dying? Are you already dead?

"Y/N, can you hear me? I need you to sit and put your head between your knees. Y/N?"

It takes a minute to decipher the words. You sit, and thankfully there's a chair to catch you. It's like you forget what you're supposed to do next, and so a hand gently guides you to lean over and put your head down. It then softly rubs your back, reminding you of when Spencer caught you crying in your office and comforted you. The night that set this whole thing in motion.

And with normal breathing comes the tears.

And with the tears comes the breakdown.

Sobs rack your body, you're heaving so heavily that you can't breathe again, and that someone hears you choking for air. You're pulled up gently and they tuck you into their chest, wrapping their arms around you.

You can tell it's Morgan when he begins to soothe you. "You're okay, Y/N. Breathe deep, that's it. I've got you." His voice is deep and soft and makes you hurt even more because you miss Spencer's, lilting and sure and always saying what you want to hear.

"It's my fault," you whisper.

Morgan asks, "What did you say, Y/N?" but it's like you can't even hear him.

"It's my fault," you repeat. "It's my fault." Over and over. It is the only thought running through your head.

Morgan finally hears you and tries to intervene, but you're like a brick wall.

"It's not your fault, Y/N."

"It's my fault."

"Y/N. It's not."

"It's my fault."

"Y/N."

"It _is_  my fault." With this, you look up and lock eyes with him. "It's my fault he wasn't here, it's my fault he was outside, and it's my fault he was without protection. He's gone because of me. Because I couldn't handle thinking about what could happen to him." Tears stream down your cheeks. "And it happened anyway."

"Y/N," Morgan's voice is firm and unwavering, "it's not your fault. This could've happened to any of us."

The anger comes out of nowhere. "I should've been able to save him," you spit out.

"No one could have handled the situation differently."

"It's my job!"

"It's not, Y/N."

You try to pull out of Morgan's arms, try to beat your fists against his chest, but he just grabs ahold of your forearms and holds them still. "It is! It's _my fault_  he was out there, it's _my fault_  he was taken, and it's _my fault_  he's gone!"

"Y/N!" Morgan's voice booms around you, silencing you. "He's _not_  gone and it's _not_  your fault!"

You let out a sob and fall back against him. He catches you and shushes you and strokes your hair and you wish it was Spencer doing it instead.

Your next words come out tiny. "I should've been able to save him."

"There's nothing you could've done," Morgan replies softly.

You let out a loud sniff and rub your nose on your sleeve. A tissue appears in your vision and you take it and blow your noise. Another reminder of Spencer comforting you. Another reminder of what started everything.

"Do you think he's okay?" You ask Morgan.

"Reid is a big boy. He can take care of himself. I wouldn't be surprised if he talks himself out of the unsub's captivity." He chuckles gently.

You smile a little. After a few minutes to compose yourself, you expand your focus to the rest of the room. You can hear Penelope sniffling from the computer. Emily and JJ are right behind you, close to crying; Hotch and Rossi are hovering on the outskirts, looking concerned.

"Y/N?" Emily's voice is tentative. "Is there anything you need?"

"Yes, we can get you whatever," JJ jumps in.

You lift your head and look around the room. The team seems to be focused on you, while the rest of the station is just standing around, watching your group warily.

"You know what I need?" You surprise everyone, including yourself, with words that are strong and harsh and blunt. "I need everyone in this room, in this goddamn station, to get back to work on this case right now. I need you to work this case harder than any other case you've ever worked. I need you to work miracles and do the impossible because the _l_ _ove of my life_  is looking death in the eye right now and you only have _three hours to find him_!"

Everyone stares at you.

Did you just call Spencer the love of your life?

There's no time to dwell. You're just as surprised as everyone else - but it feels more right than anything else in your life at this moment, so it just is.

And now you have to save him.

You give another glare, this one hotter, and everyone springs into action. The team scrambles to disperse, as does the station. Hotch turns to the computer.

"Garcia?" His voice is unusually stern.

Penelope gives a hiccup. "Yes, sir?"

"Did we get a puzzle?"

"Oh!" She also jumps into action, typing furiously. "Yes! I'm sending it to all of your tablets and phones. You also might want to print it out."

Hotch looks at you once again and nods firmly. You nod back, with as much courage as you can muster, and he walks away to the conference room. Everybody moves to follow, but you catch Morgan and Emily by their sleeves and hold them back.

"Y/N?" Morgan asks.

You take a breath. "Would you two give me a cognitive interview? I want to remember everything I can. Anything could help."

They look at each other and then look at you. They nod.

* * *

"Okay, Y/N, I want you to take a few deep breaths."

You do as you're told.

"Now I want you to go back to your car ride with Spencer. What do you notice around you?"

You feel as if you're being slowly transported.

"The radio is playing. It's soft, but a song I know. I could hum it if I wanted."

"Good. What else?"

"The A/C is blowing, and it's nice. It's so hot outside and the station is always so freezing. It's a nice in-between."

"Keep going."

"It's dark, but the moonlight is bright. It comes in through the window and shines on the side of Spence's face. His hair makes crazy shadows on the window behind him." You smile. "I kind of want to play with it, make shapes out of it."

"Can you see the roads you're taking?"

"I..." You furrow your brow. "I don't know. I'm not paying attention to what's outside. Only what's inside."

"Anything else?"

"Spencer's hand keeps bouncing on his leg, like he can't keep it still. It kind of looks like he's playing piano one-handed. I can't make out a pattern. But knowing him, there probably is one I just can't see."

"Do you and Spencer talk about anything?"

"Yeah. I was thinking about that time we went out and played Never Have I Ever. I ask him about his answer to my death question."

"What does he say?"

"He's telling me the story of his addiction. Of Dilaudid."

"How does it make you feel?"

"A lot of things. I'm scared. Surprised. Pained. Worried." You pause. "But I'm also impressed. Inspired. By his strength. By his vulnerability."

"What else?"

"His hand isn't moving anymore. I'm holding it. When he's done talking, I squeeze it. Stroke it with my thumb. Let him know he's not alone."

"What happens next?"

"We're at the hotel. I can get out of the car by myself. I have my strength back. When I meet him at the front of the car, Spence holds out his hand again. I take it."

"Why?"

"Because there's no reason not to."

"How do you feel?"

"Happy. Content. Calm. We're both smiling. We're walking towards the door and our hands are swinging between us. His is warm and calloused and totally covers mine. I--I don't think I've ever felt safer."

"What do you notice about your surroundings?"

"I'm more focused on how Spencer is looking at me. With joy. With admiration. It makes me feel full."

"Nothing about the environment?"

"It's..." You think harder. "It's nicer outside now, than it was before. The wind is cool on my face. We're about to turn a corner. There are rose bushes, in full bloom. They're gorgeous. There's--wait..."

"What do you see?"

"It's not what I see. It's what I hear. There's a heavy breathing coming from behind me. It's getting closer. That's when it happens. Something hits my head from behind. It hurts." You can feel your breath speeding up, your heart pounding. "I fall forward and lose Spencer's grip. I hit the ground full-force. I can't see anything. I'm losing consciousness. Where's Spencer?"

"Y/N." Emily's voice is soothing. "You're okay. You're with us. No one can hurt you now."

Her words help a little. You nod shakily.

"Can you hear anything?"

"Yes." You sound surprised. "Yes...I can hear Spencer. He's calling my name. I want to call back, but I can't make my mouth work. And I can hear...I can hear the unsub." You shudder. "It's the same voice as in the video. He's threatening...he's threatening _me_."

You feel as though you've been struck again.

"He has a gun. I can hear it being cocked. Spencer's talking really fast now. It's hard to make out his words." You're working overtime to understand. "He's...he's protecting me. He's telling the unsub that--that he'll go willingly if he leaves me alone. If he doesn't hurt me again."

You pause, and no one dares say a word.

"The unsub--he's laughing. He's agreeing to Spencer's terms. Spencer's still trying to talk to me. See if I'm okay. But I can't move. I can't speak. I can't let him know anything. I can hear the phone and keys being tossed to the ground. Then...footsteps. He's leading Spencer away. I'm left unharmed."

You open your eyes and stare at Morgan and Emily.

"Spencer traded his life for mine."

* * *

A few minutes later, a knock comes upon the door. No one's said anything since your epiphany; Morgan and Emily are just as shocked as you. The three of you turn your attention to the doorway, and Rossi pops his head in.

"Sorry to interrupt," he says, "but Y/N, we need your help. We think you can solve this thing."

You nod distractedly. Rossi disappears and Morgan and Emily rush after him. You move too, just slower than everyone else, and leave the room in a daze.

Spencer went with the unsub willingly for you. To keep you safe. He gave up his right to protest for you.

First you call Spencer the love of your life, and now you remember that he traded his life for yours.

What a day.

You eventually reach the conference room and sit in the couch, still bewildered. The team is rushing around, staring at a large blown-up word search, attached to the white board. It covers most of Spencer's handwriting. "Y/N," Hotch addresses you, and you look up at him slowly. His face is kind of swimming in your vision. "You're the one who knows Reid best. We think you can answer the clues for this puzzle."

You nod, but your head kind of moves of its own accord. Hotch looks to Emily and Morgan, who come over to stand by you two.

"Y/N might not have the mental capacity to solve this right now," Morgan says. "We had a pretty intense cognitive interview."

"We only have an hour and a half," Hotch replies, soft but firm.

"Right," Emily tries to intervene, "but Y/N--"

"Read them to me," you interrupt.

"Y/N?"

"Morgan's right. I can't possibly look at those and not see a jumble of letters. But read them aloud. I can hear perfectly fine."

Hotch looks back at JJ, who looks down at her copy of the search.

"What team did he coach in high school?"

"Basketball," you answer instantly. "He used math to help them win more."

JJ circles the word on the search, the first answer they've found. You look at Hotch, who seems impressed. "Keep going," he says.

"What degrees does he hold?"

"He has PhDs in Mathematics, Chemistry, and Engineering; and BAs in Psychology, Sociology, and Philosophy."

"What sidearm does he carry?"

"A Smith & Wesson Model 65 revolver. It used to be a Glock 17."

"And how many unsubs has he killed?"

"Seven. That includes Tobias Hankel." You swallow hard.

"What languages can he speak or understand?"

"German, Korean, Russian."

"What is the fourth word in his dissertation title?"

"Factors. The full title is _Identifying non-obvious relationship factors using cluster weighted modeling and geographic regression_."

"Why do you know that?" Rossi asks. All you can do is shrug.

"And what was the last book he read?"

" _Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can't Stop Talking_. I recommended it to him."

The questions stop and you look up at the rest of the group. They're all staring at you.

"What else?" You ask.

"That's it," JJ answers.

"So you know where he is?"

She looks back at the huge word search. In the midst of all the circled words, one word seems to jump out: Icarus.

"Penelope?" You prompt. "Any hits on Icarus?"

"Yes!" She shouts. "There is an abandoned warehouse owned by Icarus Aviation on Henry Street. It's right on the docks, next to the water."

You look at Hotch in surprise. "Is that all we need?"

He's already pulling open the door. "Yes."

You spring up from the couch and pass him through the doorway.

"Then let's go save him."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a. sorry for the short-ish chapter...but next chapter will make up for it!  
> b. most of those q&a's are thanks to the notes section of spencer's page on the criminial minds wikia page  
> c. callout for myself, who started "Quiet" last year and still hasn't finished it


	8. Rescue

she asked  
‘you are in love  
what does love look like’  
to which i replied  
‘like everything i’ve ever lost  
come back to me.’  
Unknown

* * *

"Y/N."

Hotch has said your name three times before you actually register he's talking to you. You lift your head, pausing in your rush to get your bulletproof vest on, and look at him.

"I don't think it's the best idea if you come with us."

You don't reply, just raise an eyebrow. There's a determination eating away at you, burning your insides until Spencer is safe and sound back with you. His body next to you. His hand in yours. You can feel it surge up but keep it reined in for now.

"I think you should stay back at the station."

"What?"

He dares to continue. "I don't want you coming with us."

"Hotch," you say, your voice deadly quiet, "I want you to know that even if you forbid me to come, even if you take away my vest and gun, even if you try to lock me in this station, I will find a way out. I will get to that warehouse. And I will save Spencer. There is no chance I'm staying while he's out there, waiting for us. Waiting for _me_. I'm going."

"Y/N--"

"This is not a request!"

Sparks are spitting from your eyes and steam is pouring from your ears and you are surprised your words aren't just fire instead. It feels like they could be. Hotch doesn't physically back down, but there's a fear in his eyes that's new, never seen before. You know you'll apologize later, profusely, but right now, this is how it is. How it has to be.

You finish putting on your vest and make sure your gun is locked and loaded. Not waiting for the rest of the team, you head out to the SUVs, leaving them fumbling behind you, rushing to make sure you don't leave without them. You sit in the front seat - something you never do unless Spencer is driving - and wait, both patiently and impatiently. Morgan slides into the driver's seat and turns over the engine, while Emily and JJ get in the back. He only checks to make sure all doors are closed before tearing out of the parking lot, haphazardly flipping on the siren.

It takes ten agonizing minutes to get to the warehouse, and as soon as the car is stopped (for the most part) you're out and sneaking inside. You don't even know if anyone is behind you.

The warehouse is huge and mostly empty, save for a few pieces of aviation equipment still lying around, rusting and collecting dust. It's dark, but that damned moon is still bright, and you only have to use your flashlight intermittently. Keeping your eyes trained forward and your ears open, you go deeper and deeper into the building. It feels like it will go on forever.

You come to and descend a staircase into a large open area - where the planes must've been physically built. Big garage-like doors cover the walls, all of them closed. After clearing the space, you choose a side and start exploring. You take care to lift them quickly but quietly, training your gun inside immediately.

Fourth time's the charm.

_"Spencer!"_

You're frozen at the sight: Spencer, tied to a chair, sitting in the center of the room. He's unconscious, his head hanging down and his limbs slack. All you manage to do is scan the rest of the space, confirming that he's in here alone.

Finally, you can move, and tear across the room. You drop your gun on the way but don't even think about it. Falling to your knees, you cup his face and lift it, moving his hair back. He's out cold. You can't get him out of here by yourself, but you have no idea where the rest of the team is. You need to wake him up.

You're running on adrenaline and thinking desperately, so desperately that you pull on the most random topic - your fairytale knowledge - and kiss him hard. As you do, a voice in the back of your mind whispers that this has absolutely no scientific basis; it sounds exactly like Spencer's.

But Spencer is finally wrong, because you feel movement from him. You pull away and he immediately groans and you're crying in utter relief.

"Thank god," you choke out, "Thank god you're okay." You reach into your pocket and bring out a Swiss Army knife, starting to cut at the rope around his ankles.

"Wait," Spencer croaks. "Get back up here. I wanna try that again."

You switch to the other foot. "What?"

"The kiss. You know, shouldn't our first kiss have been when we're both conscious?"

"Well, I didn't know what else to do," you grunt. "Gimme one minute." Leaning behind the chair, you break through the rope binding his arms together. You lean back and Spencer shakes free. Once he is, he slides off the chair to join you on the ground, holds your face in his hands, and kisses you fervently.

You reciprocate just as intensely, trying to get as close to him as you can. When you need air, you break away, immediately checking his body for injuries.

"Are you okay?" You ask, worried. "Did he hurt you?"

Spencer laughs breathlessly at your nonstop movements. "I'm okay, I'm okay. My head is throbbing but he didn't hurt me otherwise."

Your hands go to his hair, checking for a head wound. "Are you bleeding?" You're moving wildly and accidentally pull his hair as you search, making Spencer moan involuntarily.

"Maybe don't do that right now," he says tightly. Satisfied he's actually okay, you focus back on him and giggle at his pained expression. "It's not funny."

You try to hide your smile. "It's not. But it's definitely something I will remember later."

Spencer exhales loudly and you smirk. He brings his face back to yours, grinning widely.

But then he's looking over your shoulder and sucking in a breath. And then he's not smiling anymore.

You turn your head and see the unsub, standing at the entrance, pointing a gun at you both. "Up" is all he says.

You both comply and Spencer smoothly puts himself in front of you, a barrier between you and the unsub. You want to reverse that - you're here to save _him_  after all - but you can't move. The unsub starts walking towards you slowly, his grip on the gun loose. He smiles.

"You solved my puzzle. That has never happened before." He looks thoughtful for a second, then shrugs. "Well, first time for everything. Besides, it was not my finest work. I had a limited amount of time, you see. I was just so _eager_  to kill you, Spencer Reid. I am sorry that I will not be able to."

He then turns his attention to you, his eyes cutting into you and making you clutch at the back of Spencer's shirt. Spencer reaches a hand back and you grasp it, holding it in a death grip.

"But you, on the other hand...you will do nicely."

"We had a deal," Spencer's voice is shaking but strong. "They found me, and we had a deal, and you have to uphold it."

The unsub looks back at Spencer with a dull expression. "Yes, you and I had a deal. And I am fulfilling it by not killing you. However, she and I did not." He's still moving forward, getting closer with every lazy step. "This might even be better. Did you know, girl, that he bartered for your life earlier?"

"Yes," you whisper, and the sound echoes out.

Spencer twitches in shock and the unsub looks pleasantly surprised. He continues. "So you know you are important to him. While I cannot kill him...I can kill you, and it will achieve the same effect. Possibly one more so desired than killing him would have gained."

He stops walking, still a distance from you and Spencer but close enough, and raises the gun. Without warning, he shoots, and everything becomes a blur.

You're paralyzed, staring down the path of the bullet. And then suddenly, you're falling. Backwards, to the floor. You sit down hard - but strangely, that is the only reason you hurt.

And then Spencer is stumbling in front of you, looking about to fall too. You scramble to your knees. You catch him as he comes down, placing him carefully and cradling his head gently. He's blinking rapidly, breathing heavily.

There's a warmth on your thigh. Glancing down, you see a dark red stain on your jeans, spreading quickly.

"Oh my god, Spencer," you whisper.

Another shot rings out. You fall on top of Spencer's body, shielding him, but nothing else happens. Not until Morgan calls out.

"Y/N, we got him!"

"Medic! Get a medic!" You scream.

"Y/N," Spencer groans out, and you sit up and look down at him, trying to blink through your tears. He's barely conscious and his eyes are drooping but he's fighting to stay awake.

You plead with him. "Stay with me, Spence. Don't fall asleep, stay with me!"

He moans in pain but tries to speak again. "Y/N...I need you to know."

"Know what?" He starts falling under again. "Spence," you cry, shaking him lightly, "stay with me. Know what?"

"I need you to know...that I love you."

And then he's gone.


	9. Confessions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a. Y/H/C = your hair color (try not to put "white")

I will come back from the dead for you.  
Richard Siken

Love is giving someone the ability to destroy you, but trusting them not to.  
Unknown

* * *

There's an annoying beeping coming from Spencer's left. It's interrupting his lovely dream about you. _It's an alarm clock_ , he thinks, _I need to hit snooze_. But it takes more effort than usual to open his eyes and it really hurts to move his left arm and now he's thinking he's not in bed and that beeping is not an alarm clock.

Finally cracking his eyes open, all he can see is white. White ceiling, white walls, white sheets, white machines. And then there's a flash of Y/H/C in all the white. Struggling to lift his head, Spencer looks down - at a hospital bed, apparently - and sees you, asleep, your head resting on the mattress next to his right hip. He can't see your face, but your breathing is steady and deep, and you seem at peace for once.

He has to work at it but eventually lifts his right hand and lightly runs his fingers across your hair.

You wake up instantly, whipping your head up from the bed and towards Spencer. When you see him awake and smiling at you, you let out a sob and leap at him. There's a pain in his upper left arm as you embrace him tightly, but he'd endure much more for this. Your lips are everywhere, kissing him all over his face, and he's laughing and you're laughing and it's absolutely perfect.

"Oh my god," you say between pecks, "I'm so glad you're okay. I was so worried."

Spencer can't stop giggling.

Then suddenly, you stop, and pull back, and don't say anything. Spencer looks at you, concerned. "Y/N? Are you okay?"

You put on a serious expression and sit on the edge of his bed. "Spence," you say gravely. "I need you to know."

Spencer seems uneasy. "Know what?"

You let the tension sit for a few seconds longer, amping up Spencer's worry, before breaking out into a glowing smile. "I love you too, Spencer Reid."

" _What?_  What was with the serious expression?"

You slap his right arm, hard. "That's what you get for saying 'I love you' and then immediately blacking out!"

Spencer's jaw drops and he gapes at you. "You mean that wasn't a dream?"

"No, you dork!"

"Well, you had our first kiss while I was unconscious!"

"What was I supposed to do? I had to do something!"

"So you decided to fall back on fairytale clichés that have no scientific proof? It's like you don't know me at all!"

"It was romantic! Can you say it wasn't romantic?"

Spencer pauses to consider the question. "You're right. It was romantic...in the conventional, clichéd way." He smirks at you and you want to give him an outraged look but you can't stop from laughing.

Spencer pulls you to him with his uninjured arm and kisses you passionately. You fall into him and kiss him back, running your hands through his hair. You pull it lightly, playfully, and Spencer moans into your mouth. You have to break the kiss because you're laughing again, and Spencer lifts his head to look at you.

"Let's not do that right now," he whispers.

"Why not?" You whisper back.

"Because we're not alone."

You sit up as Penelope flies into the room and envelops Spencer in a huge hug. He looks down at her snuggling into his chest and chuckles. "You don't have to hug me so hard, Garcia."

"Of course I do!" She exclaims. "You were shot. You almost died!"

You roll your eyes. "He got shot in the arm. He's perfectly fine."

Spencer gives you a fake offended expression. "Excuse me, this was supposed to be your bullet wound."

"Bet you wish I was the one in the hospital bed right about now, huh?"

"Never," he replies simply, teasing tone gone. He squeezes your hand and you two smile at each other softly.

Penelope quickly lets go of Spencer and steps back. "I'll let you have your man back."

"Yeah, and stay back. He's off-limits for anything but handshakes," you reply sarcastically.

"Don't have to worry about that," Rossi says. "Spencer doesn't shake hands."

You burst out laughing, infecting the rest of the team, and now it's Spencer's turn to roll his eyes. "So," he draws out, obviously trying to change the subject, "which one of you won the pool?"

Most of the team freezes, quieting the room. "You know about that?" Emily asks.

Spencer scoffs. "Of course. I _am_ a genius, or did you forget?"

"What pool?" You ask curiously.

Morgan turns a little red as he replies. "We, um, kind of had a, um--"

"Spit it out, bro."

"We had a pool on when you two would get together," Rossi smoothly finishes for him.

You share a look with Spencer. "Of course you did." The team coughs and shuffles around, and you and Spencer have to laugh at their awkwardness. "But really, who won?"

"That would be me." A deep voice pops up from the back and the group parts almost religiously for...Hotch. Your laughter is ramped up as the rest of the team groans and grumbles. Hotch just smiles - an actual, honest to god smile. "Congratulations, by the way."

Then Spencer's hospital room is filled with your BAU family cheering for the two of you. You duck your head into Spencer's neck, embarrassed but giggling, and he kisses the crown of your head while holding you close, and the situation could not be more perfect if it had tried.

* * *

"So the puzzle was a word search, and all the answers were things about your life. Easy stuff, like what team you coached in high school and your dissertation title."

Spencer raises an eyebrow. "My dissertation title?"

You nod.

"You knew that?"

"I knew all of it."

"How?"

You shrug. "I have a great memory."

Spencer laughs. You're sitting across from him, in his hospital bed. Your crossed legs are between you, right below a tray of food. It's bland hospital food, but it's better than nothing and you're just happy that Spencer has an appetite. That he's getting better. You're already planning your first meal out of the hospital (burgers and beer, a classic).

"Y/N?"

You hum. You're trying to prevent the slice of tomato from falling out of your sandwich. It's a fruitless exercise, since it slides out every time you take a bite.

"When the unsub had us at gunpoint, you said you knew I basically traded my life for yours."

"Yup."

"How did you know?"

"I had Morgan and Emily give me a cognitive interview."

"And?"

"And...what?" You look up at him, pausing in eating your sandwich. He sets down the cup of jello he'd been scraping for all its worth and focuses all his attention on you. Slowly, you do the same.

"And...?" He trails off.

"Spence," you say exasperatedly, "what are you trying to ask?"

He clears his throat. "I'm trying to ask how it made you feel."

"Oh." You're not really sure how to word everything you'd felt in that moment, but do your best. "Well, I was shocked at first, you know. Like, you gave up your right to protest for me. You put your life before mine. That's huge. I wasn't sure how to process it. I was...confused."

One side of Spencer's mouth turns down. "Confused?"

"Yeah." You sigh. "But then you went and took that shot for me...I don't even know how to explain this."

"You're doing great," Spencer says softly and grabs your hand, holding it tight.

"Like..." And then it comes to you. "Like, you obviously know how I've been acting since I started at the BAU. And you know why. You're the smartest person I know, I wouldn't be surprised if you knew as soon as you met me."

"Not that quickly."

"Then when?"

He looks sheepish. "On the ride home, after your first case."

You laugh. "I knew it. Anyways, you also know that over the past few months, that's been changing. How I act during cases. How I interact with the team. How I interact with you." You breathe deep. "And I was...angry with myself. For that. Because that was the whole point of acting how I was. To _not_  get close with all of you. To protect myself.

"And when...when you were taken, and we got that video, and there was a ticking clock on your life, my anger felt validated. That voice that was making me feel guilty was triumphant for once. Like, if I hadn't gotten close to you, it wouldn't hurt as much as it did."

Tears come to your eyes, despite trying to hold them back. Spencer takes the chance to push away the tray of food between you and pull you close. He rests his forehead against yours and you close your eyes.

Teardrops fall to the sheets below. "Spence...it hurt so much. There's no way to describe that either. And it felt like my fault at the time--"

"It wasn't your fault," Spencer cuts you off. "You know that, right?"

You nod, sniffling. "Yeah, I know. Morgan made sure of that."

"Good."

"But it _felt_  that way, in the moment. And no one was doing anything. I kind of shouted at them, a little bit." Spencer tries to muffle a snicker. "We only had three hours! They needed to get working. And I couldn't stop thinking about when you were actually taken, being knocked out and losing you without any control. There were things I was missing, I was sure of it. So I asked Morgan and Emily to give me a cognitive interview, and they agreed. I'll tell you all about it later. But when I remembered that you struck that deal, to go quietly if he left me unharmed, it was almost too much to handle. It was the first time I had learned - well and truly _knew_  - you had feelings for me too.

"But then, before I could finish processing it, we were swept into solving the puzzle and then finding your location and saving you and you...taking that bullet for me. Which was thoughtless and reckless and so fucking stupid." You punch his right arm and he yelps.

"Hey!" He rubs his upper arm and pouts.

You smile sweetly. "Be grateful I didn't hit the other arm."

He looks nervous, but you clutch his hand tightly. "But it was also sweet and protective and amazing. And even though I still haven't fully forgiven you for the aftermath scare, it gave me time to process everything.

"Even though you and Morgan and everyone else on the team keep reassuring me it wasn't, this whole situation was my fault." Spencer wants to stop and disagree, but you don't let him. "It's my fault, and I'm okay with that."

Spencer closes his mouth.

"Look at the facts, Spence. I'm the reason you were outside without protection, why you went with him without arguing, and why you were shot. Those are indisputable. But the reason it's _my_  fault is because it was _your_  choice. Everything that happened was all because you put me before yourself, which was completely your decision and I had no say over. That's when I realized the difference between something being my fault because of _me_  and something being my fault because of _them_."

Spencer may be the smartest person you know, but even he looks lost.

"Okay. When you were taken, I thought it was my fault because I believed there was something I could've done to stop it. And that's why I felt guilty and angry with myself - the whole point of isolating myself was to avoid this type of situation. But when I learned you went willingly to save me, and then when you took the bullet for me, I realized it was my fault only because you put me before yourself, and there's nothing I could've done to stop that. Because even if I'd been conscious when you were taken or able to take that bullet instead of you, you wouldn't have let me, because you love me. And you were okay - are okay - with putting me first because of that love.

"That makes what happened my fault but that's okay, because that's what _you_  want. And that showed me that when people get close to other people, when people _love_ other people, that's the kind of trust that's between them. And not to psychoanalyze myself, but in a way, I think my whole isolation tactic was because I've never had a relationship where I'm the first priority. I've never been with someone who thinks about me before themselves. So finding you, and this love between us, makes _everything_  okay.

"Does that make sense?"

Spencer nods. "99.9%."

You peer at him and then shrug. "Good enough, 'cause it's why I can do this." You kiss him, and he responds happily.

"I'm glad you can do that," he says, when you two break apart.

You beam. "Me too."

Leaning away from each other, you wipe away the remnants of your crying. Grabbing a tissue, you blow your nose loudly, and Spencer smiles.

"So I heard..."

You look up at him. "What?"

"I heard that you called me the 'love of your life'?"

"Oh," you groan. "And who told you that?"

"Just a little birdie," he answers cheekily, with a smirk.

"Well," you say quickly, looking away from him, "it was in the moment, you know, and I was traumatized, and--"

"Y/N." Spencer cups your face with his hand, and you shut up.

"Yeah?"

"You're the love of my life too."

You can't stop the smile blossoming on your face and it's mirrored on Spencer's. You kiss him lightly.

"Good," you say. "Otherwise, I would definitely have to leave the BAU."

Spencer laughs, and this moment is everything you've ever wanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a. sorry this is so late! started a new job and so things have been kinda crazy  
> b. i went through many drafts of the "explanation for your behavior" conversation/speech so i hope i did the story justice with this one  
> c. the next and last chapter is an epilogue (that will be v cute) but wanted to let you know in case it doesn't get posted for a while (holiday craziness is right around the corner)


	10. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a. y/m/n = your middle name; y/l/n = your last name

Let's forget the baggages of the past and make a new beginning.  
Shehbaz Sharif

* * *

_Six months later_

Two things happen right after each other that wake you up: the plane lands on the strip, and there's a quick and sloppy kiss on your cheek. You open your eyes, groggy as all hell, sit up, and turn just in time to see a few wisps of Spencer's hair before he flies out of the plane door. You blink in confusion - you've got that nasty feeling of being in limbo that always comes after naps - and try to gather yourself.

"Y/N?"

You turn back around find Penelope, JJ, and Emily all waiting for you. They're packed and ready to go, so you scramble to do the same as quickly as your tired body will allow. You stand and shuffle out of the plane behind them. You do a quick scan of the parking lot, searching for Spencer, but a SUV is already gone and he's nowhere to be found.

You follow the chain and pile into the other SUV with the girls and Morgan as driver. There's some small talk in the car, but it stays peacefully - and oddly - quiet for most of the ride. At one point, you're startled when a horn blows. You look up and out of the windshield, just to be met with bright orange - cones, barrels, and vests. The men wearing them are drilling, doing construction on the street. Oh, and there's a huge stop sign right in front of the car.

"Did any of you guys know they were doing construction down here?" Morgan asks as he taps his fingers on the steering wheel.

You all reply "no" to the question. As you sit in stand-still traffic and listen to everyone else's frustration at being stuck there, you're struck by where you actually are. There are definitely other ways, faster ways, to get back to Quantico. Why didn't Morgan take one of those?

Then again, you reason, none of you knew about this construction and the awful traffic it would cause, so it's nothing out of the ordinary. Right?

As you inch along, you can feel yourself becoming impatient. You're tired, worn out, and still confounded as to why Spencer just left you hanging on the jet. He knows you usually need some moral support after cases are finished.

Also, Penelope keeps looking at you with weird expressions, like she can't contain something she wants to say.

The next time you catch her looking you say, "Pen?"

She yelps quietly, surprised at being caught. Clearing her throat, she answers, "Yeah?"

"Is there something...on your mind?"

She replies "no" but you're unconvinced. "Are you sure? Nothing you want to...get off your chest?"

"Yep," she says, her voice unnaturally high, "Nothing to say." You want to keep interrogating her, but it's not worth it. So you let it go.

And even though Emily is usually much subtler, you catch the scathing glare she sends Penelope's way.

Next thing you know, Morgan's pulling into the BAU headquarters. Penelope practically bounds out of the car and dashes inside. You take your time, puzzled over everyone's behavior tonight. Taking a look at the parking lot, you spot the previously missing SUV as well as Spencer's car. So he came here and hasn't left yet. You sigh in relief.

You're the last one inside as you step in. You ride the elevator alone too, your foot tapping in restlessness as you stare at the numbers rising. All this quietness and alone time is starting to bug you. The doors open and you walk quickly to the bullpen doors. You open them and...you're rooted to the spot, transfixed.

The bullpen is completely different. Gone is the florescent lighting and drab carpeting. Gone are the gray walls and desks covered in endless paperwork. Gone is the smell of coffee mixed with cleaning supplies.

Well, not gone. Just hidden.

Hidden underneath red rose petals and beautiful tablecloths and more types of flowers than you can count. Hidden by twinkling fairy lights and glowing candles and the faint aroma of Spencer's cologne. Hidden by tons of pictures - of you and the team, but mostly of you and Spencer.

And there's your team, standing scattered around the room. Watching you with smiles on their faces and joy in their eyes. Penelope's even crying already.

And of course, Spencer, right in the middle of it all. Looking so beautiful, his face so lovely in the candlelight. Showing off the widest grin you've ever seen him wear.

In his hands sits a square, black velvet box.

When you see it, you gasp, and drop your go bag to bring your hands to cover your mouth. Looking back up at Spencer's face, he giggles a little at your reaction. You still haven't moved from the doorway. Spencer walks towards you and holds out a hand. You take it slowly, and he gently tugs you forward and leads you to the middle of the room. He takes a breath.

"Y/N, I know this doesn't seem like the best time for a proposal." You choke out a small laugh. "But I couldn't think of a better way than this: surrounded by your family, having successfully done your job and saved lives yet again.

"When you joined the BAU, you didn't want to get close to us. And it baffled us. What's the point of being a part of a team such as this one if you don't want to have personal ties? But when I encountered you that night, crying in your office, I finally understood.

"This job hurts. It scars and traumatizes everyone who does it, in one way or another. And you were scared, like we all were, like we all _are_. You didn't want to grow to love us and then lose us. But you couldn't account for one thing."

You smile as Spencer finishes the sentence: "Me."

He continues. "You didn't count on a love so big, so real, so true, that it would sneak past your defenses, get rid of your mask. You didn't factor in someone else loving you so much that they would put you first. You didn't see it coming that I would fall in love with you, and put you before me. But I did, and I do, and I always will. But only when you need me to, of course."

As you laugh, Spencer finally gets down on one knee. "Y/N Y/M/N Y/L/N, you kick ass and you do what you want just because you want to and you're a giant nerd, just like me. You are brilliant and funny and beautiful. You're the love of my life. I promise to always be there for you, care for you, and love you for as long as you want me. I--"

"Save some for the vows!" Rossi shouts, and everyone laughs. Spencer purses his lips in a small grin. "He's right," he whispers to you, and then opens the box to reveal the most gorgeous engagement ring.

"Y/N, will you marry me?" Spencer finally asks.

Your words get stuck in your throat so you nod frantically. The happiest expression breaks across Spencer's face. "Yes?" He asks, like he needs confirmation.

"Yes!" The words finally come forth and you pour them out. "Yes, yes, of course!"

Spencer takes your left hand and slides the ring onto your ring finger. It fits perfectly - you'd expect nothing less from him. As he stands and you embrace him, the room erupts into cheers. Someone pops a champagne bottle - Rossi you assume - and the clinking of glasses surrounds you.

But you're focused on Spencer. You lean back to kiss him, as intensely as you can given the setting, which he reciprocates. When you break apart, you murmur, "I love you, so much."

Spencer lets out a tiny sigh of happiness, and your heart threatens to overflow.

"Alright, alright," Penelope says, suddenly right next to you. "You've had your time. Let me love and celebrate you!"

You and Spencer laugh as you each extend an arm out to her. Penelope bundles in and hugs you two tighter than ever before, which is saying something. And then there's another weight partly on your back, and you look over your shoulder to see Morgan has joined the hug. He kisses you on your temple in congratulations.

In no time at all, the rest of the team is in on the hug. Even Hotch - you can spot him on the edge, his arms around Rossi and JJ. Pretty soon, you're all feeling a bit suffocated and the group hug dissipates. You cherish the memory, because you know it'll probably be the only one you'll ever experience.

Someone hands you and Spencer flutes filled with champagne. Someone else produces a box of chocolates and you and Spencer split one. Rossi starts to regale everyone with the story of how he proposed to his first wife.

As your family laughs around you, and with Spencer's arm around you and body connected to yours, you finally thank the universe for everything it has given you. Because nowhere else would be as perfect as this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a. oh my goodness! it's over! i hope you enjoyed reading this as much as i did writing it, and that it brought you some sort of happiness. it was a long road, but worth it, i think  
> b. i might be working on another spencer/reader fic...but you never know if it'll happen  
> c. if you wanna talk (or bug me about that other fic, cause i might need it), come visit me on tumblr at sqmwilscn!


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